


STAR PLAN

by birdjay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers Family, Band Tour, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Don’t copy to another site, Frottage, Long, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Security Guard Bucky Barnes, Singer AU, Slow Burn, band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay
Summary: He’s the most gorgeous thing Bucky’s ever laid eyes on.He’s his new tentative boss. Maybe. If this interview goes well enough, anyway.“So, Mr. Barnes?” Steve asks, blinking at him from across a particle board table. He smiles, revealing those crooked teeth. “You ever work security before?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic was born after a WALK THE MOON concert that my fiance and I went to in January 2019. Steve is 100% based on the lead singer of that band, and STAR PLAN's music is based on their music, as well. All of the lyrics in the fic belong to WALK THE MOON. 
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> • Please mind the tags! When it says SLOW BURN, I really, really mean slow burn. 
> 
> • This was beta'd by both the lovely [mambo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/works) and [deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium).
> 
> • I commissioned the absolutely wonderful [goandgetthegun](https://twitter.com/goandgetthegun) to do art for the fic: [here](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee/status/1131618438978392065?s=20). Be sure to retweet and send a like her way! 
> 
> • If you'd like to see a series of pictures that helped inspired this fic, please look [here](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee/status/1128716267299463168?s=20).

 

 

 

Steve Rogers is _maybe_ a hundred and twenty pounds, soaking wet. He’s about five foot seven, pale as snow with bright electric blue eyes. The ends of his hair are bleached blonde, but the roots are a darker dirty color. The sides of his head are sheared close to his skin, leaving the grown out remains of a mohawk behind. He’s covered in tattoos, one full sleeve on his right arm, with others dotted around his pale skin. Steve’s nose is too big for his face, and his lips are bright red, surrounding crooked white teeth.

He’s the most gorgeous thing Bucky’s ever laid eyes on.

He’s his new tentative boss. Maybe. If this interview goes well enough, anyway.

“So, Mr. Barnes?” Steve asks, blinking at him from across a particle board table. He smiles, revealing those crooked teeth. “You ever work security before?” Steve asks, perched on one of those blue chairs Bucky recognizes from high school. Bucky is sitting on one too, recalling exactly how uncomfortable the hard plastic is. The room around them is a dim-lit, tiny closet of a thing inside the area’s favorite concert hall. Bucky had been dubious about meeting Steve here, but he figured, why not?

Bucky nods at Steve’s question, and forces himself to actually use his words. “A show here and there, yeah. Not for a full tour, though.” After his stint in Afghanistan, and losing his arm, and _that_ whole rigmarole, yeah, there wasn’t much else he was good for other than stopping fights before they happened.

“Well, it’s a little different, working the whole tour. You’d ride in the bus with the band, stay at the same hotels as us, we’d feed you, and all that. It’s included in the contract,” Steve says, waving at a packet of paper on the table in front of him. “You good to leave home for three months?”

Bucky shrugs his metal shoulder. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says, before going quiet for a minute, and then adds, “It’d… it’d be fun to travel.”

Steve rewards that statement with a brilliant smile. “It is, I can promise you that,” he says, nodding. He looks back down at the paper in his hands -- Bucky’s resume. He glances back up after tapping a line on the page, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I hate to ask, but… your arm? Will you, uh, need to come back for your arm?” The second the words come out of his mouth, Steve looks a little sheepish, but doesn’t take them back. He wants an answer.

Bucky blinks, and then shoves his left sleeve up to expose the metal underneath. He twists his arm, letting the light glint off of it. “Nah. I know how to perform maintenance on it, but it’s pretty self-containing? I’ve never had a problem with it, since they stuck it on…”

Steve reaches out with one of his hands, and then quickly halts the movement.

“You can touch, I don’t mind…” Bucky says, reaching out with the metal hand to offer it to Steve, palm up. Most people want to touch his arm when they realize it’s a piece of Stark Tech. It used to drive him crazy, but he’s gotten used to it now. Most of them aren’t doing it out of malice -- they’re just in awe of the scope of technology. Whenever Bucky stops to actually think about it, he is too. He can’t blame them or Steve for wanting to touch the miracle that is his arm. He might also, maybe, just sort of, want Steve to touch him, in general. The arm’s as good as an excuse as any.

Steve runs his pointer finger down the middle of Bucky’s hand, and then takes it in his own, much smaller one to run his thumb over the back. A shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. The cybernetic nerves are _sensitive_. “It’s amazing,” Steve says, an awed expression on his face.

“It’s my arm,” Bucky says, with a huff of a laugh. He’s had it for four years now -- he’s finally grown accustomed to it.

Steve turns those bright blue eyes on Bucky, and then smiles crookedly. “Well, it’s way cool,” he says, patting Bucky’s hand awkwardly before letting it go. He looks back down at the paper, and then chews on his lip. “I’ll be honest -- you’re the only applicant we have for this position, and, well, I don’t see any reason to look for any others. You’ve got all the qualifications. You’re nice, you seem intelligent enough, you look like you could fight a bear and win...”

“Yeah?” A thrill of excitement pulses through Bucky. He’s ignoring the bear comment for now, anyway. He _is_ big, and has only gotten bigger to accommodate the weight of the cybernetic arm. If he hadn’t, the arm would pull him to the left unrelentlessly.

“Yeah,” Steve says, looking back up with another big smile. “You want the job?”

“I mean, yeah, _yeah_ , ‘course I do!” Bucky says, with a grin of his own. It feels odd on his face. He hasn’t spoken or emoted this much in _months_.

“It’s yours then,” Steve says, sticking his hand out for an official handshake. Bucky takes it in his right hand, and shakes it once, twice and then lets it go. Excitement zips down his spine again. He’s got a job. A real one, with a _salary_. “Pegs’ll come in in a minute or two so you can sign some stuff, yeah? She’ll tell you where to be so we can get you on the tour bus…” Steve pushes his chair back, and stands up at his full five foot seven, then steps away, shoving his hands in his back pockets. He then pauses at the door, and grins. “Welcome to the band, Barnes.”

Bucky smiles back, and says, “You can call me Bucky, if you want?”

“Bucky, then,” Steve says, with a nod and another smile. He tugs the door open, and disappears behind it.

 

***

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

WE CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS.

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@STARPLANband LITERALLY CAN’T!!! BRING YOUR DANCING SHOES.

***

 

After filling out the paperwork with Peggy, Bucky goes back to his apartment. It’s not exactly empty, but it certainly feels like it. There’s no personality to the small space, just second-hand furniture and blank walls. He doesn’t like going home, but he doesn’t like leaving it, either. At least now he’s got a good excuse to -- Bucky finally landed himself a job. A job that he was infinitely suited for, too. He wouldn’t -- _couldn’t_ \-- sit behind a desk the rest of his life… or at least for the next three months.

Bucky spends the next week packing, or at least gathering what he _needs_ to pack. He doesn’t own a lot of clothes, which means he actually has to go buy some. He needs enough that he can get through at least two weeks without doing any sort of laundry. He spends exactly half an hour in a Target before giving up and buying ten plain black long-sleeved shirts, and two more pairs of dark wash jeans. On his way to the checkout lanes, Bucky throws an extra two packages of black socks into his cart.

Whatever, it’ll have to be enough.

He ends up in a TJ Maxx, of all places, a day or two later. He’s staring at the luggage trying to figure out what will suit his needs best, when his phone vibrates. Bucky tugs it out of his back pocket, and stares at the screen. No one ever texts him. He doesn’t have enough friends for that. The one maybe-friend he has is his ex-therapist, Sam. They only text each other about once a month, if that.

The text is from an unknown number, go figure. He frowns at it for a moment, before opening the actual message.

              Hi Bucky! This is Steve Rogers. Pegs gave me your number, hope that’s okay.

Bucky blinks at the screen, and then hurriedly finds his fingers to reply. He’s out of practice, so it takes him longer than it should to answer.

              Hey Steve. That’s fine, I don’t mind.

While waiting for Steve to respond, Bucky saves his number. He’ll probably need it at some point, right? It doesn’t take much longer than that for the reply to come in.

              :) oh good! You ready to go on tour with us?

Bucky laughs quietly to himself, and with some finangling, manages to send a picture of the luggage on the shelf to Steve, before adding:

             Trying to find the right suitcase for it, actually.

Three little dots appear. Bucky watches them for a second, before turning his attention back to the problem at hand -- a suitcase. The black ones go with his general _look_ , but they seem kind of flimsy. He doesn’t want his case to fall apart halfway through the tour. His phone vibrates a minute later.

              Get the red hardshell one. It’ll take a beating easy.

              You got any other questions? I’m here. :)

Bucky hums as he reads the messages, and tries to decide if he does have any other pressing concerns. He’s still deciding when he tugs the massive hardshell plastic case off the shelf. After he gets it settled, somewhat diagonally in the cart, he types out a message and hits send.

              What will I forget to pack?

It takes maybe a second for Steve to answer, which sends Bucky laughing. He startles when he realizes he’s laughing alone in the luggage aisle of TJ Maxx. When was the last time he’s laughed like this?

              Socks. Like, you think you have enough, but you do not.

              And underwear, if you wear them. Like… buy three more packages.

              Oh and deodorant! I mean, we’ll stop at stores, but I always get like four sticks?

Bucky chuckles, and mentally prepares himself to go back to Target for another trip. If the lead singer of the band is telling him this, then it must be true. He manages to reply without feeling like an idiot.

              Okay. Socks, underwear and deodorant. Got it.

              Anything else?

The dots appear again, and then another two messages comes through.

              Make sure you have enough of your daily meds, if you have any.

              It’s a pain in the ass to get them filled on the road :(

Bucky nods to himself -- though it’s not like Steve can see him -- and responds in the affirmative.

              Will do.

              Thanks for the help!

After that, he pockets his phone again, and heads towards the checkout lanes. The suitcase is surprisingly light, but deceptively large. It costs him more than he wants to admit, but whatever. He’s going to be living out of it for the next three months. It’s worth the money.

He goes to Target on his way home -- might as well get the most out of this errand trip -- and grabs the recommended items as quickly as he can. On his way out the door, he stops at the in-house Starbucks and treats himself to a hot chocolate. He deserves it. He had both a successful shopping trip, and a successful social interaction. It’s more than he can say of the past month.

 

***

 

After eating most of a frozen pizza, Bucky pulls out his tablet. He knows next to nothing about the band he just accepted a position with. He _probably_ should remedy that before actually climbing onto the tour bus. He opens the browser app, and types in the band’s name. Results pour in, the first one being the band’s actual website. He ignores that for a moment, and clicks the second link -- YouTube. He’s brought right to the band’s channel, with sixty or so videos on it. The first few are music videos, but the rest are taken from live shows, or of backstage antics. Bucky clicks the first music video for a song called Different Colors.

Bucky’s not sure what he expected STAR PLAN’s music to sound like, but it isn’t this. It’s loud, electronic, and has a beat you can dance to. Steve’s voice is deceptively deep, but on one of the songs, he hits a high falsetto note that shoots straight down Bucky’s spine. The lyrics are about inclusion, and love, and loss, and after the third song clicks over, Bucky decides he really likes it. It’s probably good that he does, seeing as he’ll be hearing it almost nonstop for the next three months.

He clicks back onto the band’s channel, and finds a live performance to watch. He wants to get an idea of what he’s gotten into, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He watches as the stage goes from completely black to being lit up by neon lights behind the drummer’s kit. Steve’s center stage, sweating heavily, but grinning like a loon. There’s colorful lines running down his cheeks, starting at the ends of his eyes. Most of the face paint looks rubbed off by the heat of the stage, but the red and white lines had probably started out uniform. He holds the mic close to his mouth, but just smiles at the crowd in front of him. The drummer kicks up a moment later, starting a fast, unrelenting beat. The guitar starts in after that, and then and only then, does Steve start singing.

Watching Steve sing on an actual stage is an entirely different experience. He devotes his whole body to the song, swaying his hips, and grinding a hand down his front while he shouts the lyrics into his microphone. He’s making love to the entire crowd. It’s sexy, it’s hot, it’s… almost uncomfortable to watch. At least until the beat changes and the song turns into a loud dance number. The crowd screams the lyrics back to Steve, who grins wildly at them. He’s got endless energy, pinballing across the stage like a crazy person. Steve stops in the middle half way through the song, and raises his hands in the air to clap them together. The crowd follows suit.

Bucky watches as he completely controls the crowd, having them chant the lyrics back to him, and clap their hands to the beat. His mouth drops open as Steve hops up onto a platform and then winks at the camera. He’s electric, he’s astounding, he’s… entirely out of Bucky’s league. But that doesn’t mean he can’t have an entirely unrealistic crush on him. The song ends with Steve practically diving off the stage into the crowd. He winces -- that’s going to be his job, making sure that Steve makes it back to the stage in one piece. If he’s known for doing that, making leaps into the audience, well, at least Bucky’s got job security.

The video ends with Steve back on stage, sweating through his white tank top. Swirls of dark ink are visible on his chest through the fabric. He punches his microphone into the air, and the beat dies behind him.

Bucky blinks at his screen, and sighs.

 

***

 

He’s in the middle of cleaning out his fridge when his phone goes off, buzzing on the kitchen counter next to the toaster. The noise startles Bucky, jolting him out of the fridge, causing him to smack the back of his head on the freezer door. He cusses loudly as he grabs for his phone, slapping his hand down over the device to keep it from vibrating any longer. Bucky answers the call with his right hand, clapping the metal one to the fresh hurt on the back of his skull.

“‘Llo?” he says, wincing as the pain crescendos. He pulls his left hand away to check for blood. Thankfully, there isn’t any.

“Bucky?” It’s Steve. Bucky would, much to his embarrassment and shame, know that voice anywhere. Especially after watching all 60 videos on STAR PLAN’s YouTube channel. That, and it had been his name flashing on the screen before Bucky answered the call.

“Yeah?” He moves so he can shut the fridge fully, and lean against the counter beside it. His garbage can is pulled out from under the sink, recently stuffed full of expired or close-to-expired food. It smells atrocious. Bucky takes it and shoves it back under the sink, and shuts the cabinet behind it just to get the smell away from him.

“How ya doin?” Steve asks. There’s noise in the background, lots of people talking all at once. It sounds crowded. Maybe he’s out shopping somewhere?

“I’m, uh, fine? You?” Bucky _hates_ talking on the phone. He can’t read social cues when he can’t actually _see_ the other person. It’s always awkward and ridiculous, and there’s always too much silence between the conversation.

“Oh, I’m good! No worries here. Hey -- I was actually calling to see if you were doing anything the day before we head out? Y’know, this Friday?” Steve’s voice goes up and down as he talks, like he’s bouncing in place or something. All Bucky can picture is him bounding across the stage as he sings.

“Uh,” Bucky starts, blinking as he thinks of his own schedule. It’s pretty fucking empty, like it usually is, but there might be some social obligation somewhere. “I don’t think I am?”

“Awesome. You wanna come over to my place then? We’re having a big barbeque to celebrate the start of tour. You’ll be able to meet everyone, and get to know us before like… sharing the same bus and all that,” Steve says, with a bubbly laugh.

It’s not actually a bad idea. Bucky has always needed a few encounters with people before he really starts to feel comfortable around them. (Plus, the little gremlin in his brain reminds him, it’s a good excuse to stare at Steve all night.) He’ll be awkward the whole time, because that’s who he is, but at least he’ll start to be able to put names to faces. It’ll be a process.

“Do you need me to bring anything?”

There’s a silence for a beat, two, and then Steve says, “Just yourself! All the food and stuff, I think, is taken care of. If not, I’ll text you something, okay? Nothing you have to make, we’re all real easy…”

“Okay,” Bucky says, nodding even though this is a phone call. He’s not sure what he’d be able to make even if Steve wanted him to bring something like that. Cooking has never been one of his strong suits. At most, he can manage things with very specific instructions written on the boxes; other than that, he gets take out.

“I’ll text you the address, alright? Sorry to cut this short, but I’m in line at Costco and it’s my turn so I’ll see you Friday, okay?” The sound of a cash register beeps in the background.

“See you then,” Bucky says, just before the call clicks off. He sets his phone back down on the counter, and goes back to digging through his fridge. He wants to get it as empty as possible so he doesn’t come home to a sentient mold monster taking over his kitchen or something equally disgusting.

When there’s nothing left but his full Brita pitcher, a bottle of ketchup, and a tub of butter, Bucky finally closes the fridge door. His trash is starting to overflow with old take out containers, moldy bread, and at least one mummified orange. Bucky cinches the bag shut, knots the ties, and carries it out to the dumpster behind his building. By the time he gets back into his apartment, shoes and coat off, his phone has lit up with a message.

It’s from Steve, because who else texts him?

              My address is 76 Crossbend Court!

              Party starts at 5, but come whenever.

              Can’t wait to see you :)

Bucky rereads the text twice, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. Steve can’t wait to see him. That’s… that’s like in a friendly way, right? Not in a romantic sense? It can’t be, can it? They’ve had like two whole conversations together. It can’t be romantic. Steve’s his _boss_ , he shouldn’t be wondering about this. But… _but_.

But _maybe_.

Bucky manages to text back a reply, only taking thirty seconds to type out the messages.

              I’ll be there!

              See you then :)

He adds the emoji at the last second, feeling that the messages were too stark without it. He hits send before he can second guess himself. The response comes a beat later.

              🖤

A single black heart.

Bucky takes a breath, and then another, and then has to shove his phone into his back pocket. He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he decides to ignore it for right now. The problem will go away if he just pretends it doesn’t exist. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only warning I have for this chapter is that Bucky briefly discusses how he loses his arm.

 

 

***

  **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

heading out on the bus tomorrow for our PATRIOT TOUR. what songs do you wanna hear?

 

 **mrs. rogers**   _@ijmere_

@STARPLANband SWEET PEA! OMG PLAY SWEET PEA.

 

 **k e l s e y  🤓**   _@wishinwell88_

@STARPLANband just play EVERYTHING ok? Ok.

 

 **chie chie**   _@blandexistence_

@STARPLANband u better play different colors or we aren’t friends anymore

 

 **P A N**   _@knittingpan23_

@STARPLANband you haven’t played fizzle out the last 2 times you were in austin!!! pleeeaaase play it this time?!

 

 **🖤** **venus, like the planet** **🖤** _@dweebvenus_

@STARPLANband PLEASE COME TO BRAZIL! 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷

 ***

 

Bucky spends at least three hours trying to decide what he’s wearing to Steve’s barbeque party. He goes through his entire wardrobe, trying on shirt after shirt: button downs, long-sleeved thermals, short-sleeved tees. In the end, he just tears everything out of his dresser. Finally, he settles on his darkest pair of jeans, and a black short-sleeve shirt that says STAFF across the back in thick white letters. It fits tight across his shoulders, but it makes both his arms and chest look really nice, if he’s allowed to think such things about himself. Shoving his feet into his beat-to-hell combat boots, Bucky stomps out to his car.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to cross town and find the Steve’s street, then another five of squinting at the house numbers before he finds the right one. 76 Crossbend Court is a small two-story house with white siding on the top floor, and red brick on the bottom. An American flag hangs limply from one of the support posts of the porch. The front door is painted a bright cherry red. Bucky parks his car across the street, and stares at the house for a minute longer.

There’s a party going on in there. One that he was invited to, and one that he said he’d show up to. He can’t back out of it now, no matter how twisty his stomach feels about the whole thing.

Bucky sighs, and shoves his keys into his jeans pocket. He can do this. Making it through a party without embarrassing himself can’t be that hard, right? People do it every day. He opens the car door -- first checking to make sure no other vehicles are coming -- and slams it shut behind himself. Bucky stalks across the road and up the sidewalk, and before he really knows he’s doing it, he’s pressing the little light up doorbell. It chimes through the house loud enough that he can hear it even on this side of the door. There’s the sound of paws scrambling on hard floor, and then a furry golden face shoves its way through the curtains in the window. Bucky blinks at the dog. The dog barks, and wags its enormous fluffy tail.

“Cut it out!” Steve’s voice shouts just before the door is yanked open revealing the man himself. Steve wears a black shirt that’s ripped to shreds, the sleeves cut open wide, revealing most of Steve’s skinny chest and sides. Bucky stares for a moment, before dragging his eyes upwards. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t notice; he’s too busy trying to hold back the big golden retriever from darting out of the door. Once he’s got a hand on its collar, Steve looks up, and smiles.

“Hi,” Bucky says, feeling lame. He’s not good at talking. Waving his right hand, Bucky waits for Steve to say or do _something_. Anything, really, so he doesn’t have to be the bulk of the conversation.

“Bucky!” Steve says, voice warm. He scoots backwards, still holding the dog, so he can open the door a little wider. “C’mon in. He won’t bite, he’s just overly excited when people come over.”

Bucky edges inside, standing just to the right of Steve and the dog until he knows where he’s supposed to go or what to do. They’re in a small living area, with a mishmash of furniture taking up most of the room around them. A squashy navy blue couch is shoved up against the far wall. There’s a violently red armchair with sleek modern lines next to the couch, and opposite both of those sits a bright green TV stand. All the furniture is a different color, a different style, but somehow it all works. Somehow it all is very _Steve._

What really grabs Bucky’s eye, though, is the blanket over the back of the couch. It’s one of those tied together fleece things, in a red and black buffalo check pattern. Bucky wants nothing more than to lay down on the couch with Steve on top of him, the blanket thrown over them both. He can’t have that though, not now, and probably not ever, so he turns away from it to watch Steve.

As soon as Bucky is inside, Steve shuts the door, and lets the dog’s collar go. The dog, whatever its name is, immediately zeroes in on Bucky. It leaps at him, circling him like a vulture, sniffing his shoes and pants and whatever he can reach. Bucky stays still, letting the dog get to know him, before squatting down to hold a fist out to it.

“What’s his name?” Bucky asks, glancing up to look at Steve while he talks. Given the view he got while the dog jumped up on him, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s a boy. The dog tries to lick its way into Bucky’s mouth, but he gently shoves it away.

“Strider,” Steve says with a wide grin. The dog immediately turns to look at Steve, but when he doesn’t offer anything interesting, he goes right back to trying to make out with Bucky. Bucky keeps pushing him away, trying to keep Strider’s tongue out of his mouth.

“Like... from _Lord of the Rings_?” Bucky asks, eyes wide with hope. Is Steve a nerd, too? That’d be something, wouldn’t it?

“Mhm!” Steve says, nodding a bunch. His hair goes wild, flopping into his eyes until he pushes it away. Today, he’s got it messed up intentionally, the white-blonde edges curling. “You like the books or the movies more?” He pauses, and then whistles loudly to get Strider’s attention. The dog sits down at Bucky’s side, still. “Sorry, he really likes people.”

“It’s alright, I like dogs,” Bucky replies, with a small smile. He reaches out and scratches between Strider’s ears. The dog’s tongue lolls out of his mouth happily. “I, uh, I like both? But the movies are more enjoyable, I think…”

It must be the right answer, because Steve’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. He beams at Bucky. “Exactly the right choice, pal,” he says, grinning. “C’mon, you wanna meet everyone? They’re all out back…”

Bucky pulls himself back up to his feet after patting Strider on the head once more. He wipes his hands on his thighs. “Sure?” He says, sounding very _un_ sure about the whole thing.

“They don’t bite, I promise,” Steve says, leading the way towards the back of the house. Bucky follows, feeling both too big, and too awkward for his current surroundings. Steve is so small compared to him, and the house feels like it was built for someone of his size, and not Bucky’s. He feels like his shoulders are going to brush both walls of the tiny hallway he’s led through. They don’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hunch them a little as he walks.

Steve takes them through to a small kitchen, and then to the back door. He opens it, and waves a hand towards the backyard. Bucky forces a smile, and steps through the threshold to the actual party.

 

***

 

Whatever Bucky was expecting, what the party actually turns out to be is not it. Not even a little.

There’s six people sprawled out in various plastic lawn chairs all across Steve’s yard. They’re all dressed casually and comfortably, sipping on beers or wine coolers while they chat with one another. It’s relaxed. There’s music playing softly in the background. No one’s screaming or dancing or making enough noise to make Bucky’s head hurt. It’s okay, he realizes. This is an okay place. He lets his shoulders relax.

“Hey guys,” Steve says, stepping out onto the concrete patio behind Bucky. He gestures to him, with a dramatic wave of his hand. “This is Bucky, our new stage security guy…”

Bucky raises his right hand at the group of people in front of him. Some of them look faintly familiar -- probably from the videos he watched on their YouTube. They all raise their drinks to him, and smile. Steve sets a hand on Bucky’s elbow, and tugs him to a woman with bright red hair. She raises one pierced eyebrow, and then smiles. “This is Nat, our guitarist,” Steve says, nodding his head towards her. She stands up out of her chair, and offers a pale hand to him. Bucky takes it, and shakes it once. He can feel her calluses on his skin as she pulls away.

“Nice to have you on the team, Bucky,” She says, with a smile. She nods her head towards big blue cooler behind her. “Help yourself to anything in there, okay? I brought enough drinks, trust me.”

Bucky nods his assent, but doesn’t go towards the cooler. Better to meet everyone first, and it’s more polite, anyway. Steve takes his elbow again, and steers him towards the blonde man sprawled out on the grass on his back. He’s wearing ratty basketball shorts, and a shirt that says GO HAWKS in purple letters. Tattoos dot his legs. Steve points. “That’s Clint. He’s mostly deaf in both ears, so if he doesn’t acknowledge you, you gotta shout or touch him,” he says, with a grin. Steve lets go of Bucky’s elbow to take a step forward and nudge Clint’s thigh with the toe of his shoe. Clint sits up, and blinks at them. He tilts his head like a confused dog, and then signs something rapid-fire to Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes, but signs something right back. He turns his head a little to talk to Bucky. “He _has_ hearing aids, he just doesn’t ever wear them. He’s fluent in sign language, and he can read lips, so don’t worry about trying to communicate. He just might answer real loud.”

“Hi!” Clint says, shouting just a little. He waves a big hand.

“Hello,” Bucky answers, waving back. He feels a little having to ask, but he hadn’t been paying attention to anyone other than Steve when he was watching those videos. He has no idea who plays what, and well, it’s probably pretty pertinent information, right? “What do you play?”

Clint mimes playing the drums. He finishes, and then grins wide. “Drums. I feel the beat,” He offers, still smiling.

“Cool,” Bucky says. It _is_ neat that he can still be in a band without being able to hear. _Especially_ neat because he’s the driving beat everyone else plays to. Clint lays back down on the grass after a minute, leaving Bucky to turn back to Steve.

Steve nods him over to a massive blonde man somehow squashed precariously into a plastic chair. Whoever this guy is, he’s bigger than even Bucky, which is surprising. He’s not used to _not_ being the biggest guy in the room. The guy’s hair tumbles down past his shoulders, curling at the ends. He’s got on a tight white shirt that ripples over his pecs, and a pair of ripped black jeans. His huge feet are encased in big, black leather boots, with the laces pulled loose. One bulging arm has a full sleeve of Norse-looking runes, all the way up to the back of his hand. The man smiles bright, friendly, and waves one enormous square hand.

“Hello,” he says, his voice much deeper than Bucky was expecting.

“Hi,” Bucky says, blinking at him. This dude’s a full-out Viking. If he stood up, Bucky bets he’d tower close to six-foot-five, _at least_.

“This is Thor, our bassist,” Steve supplies, flicking a hand at him. The big man copies Clint and mimes playing his instrument, one hand held up high, the other lower as his fingers flick over imaginary strings.

“Are your parents giants?” Bucky asks, before he can stop himself. His eyes go wide, and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he adds, feeling like an idiot.

Thor lets out a great booming laugh that Bucky feels in his chest. The bassist shakes his head, still laughing. “No, but I _did_ eat all my vegetables growing up…” He smiles, eyes crinkling with it. “Drank all my milk, too. Must have done something right, eh?”

Bucky nods, eyes still wide. It takes a second for him to realize that Thor’s mostly joking. He forces a laugh, and turns back to Steve with an embarrassed expression. Steve smiles at him, a sweet thing that scrunches up his face.

“Don’t worry -- Thor’s more of a teddy bear than a grizzly,” he whispers, leaning in so only Bucky can hear.

Steve takes Bucky’s arm and turns him towards the last two people in the yard. One he recognizes immediately -- Peggy, STAR PLAN’s manager. Today, she’s got on high-waisted white shorts, and a polka-dot blouse with a wide neckline. A pin-up girl tattoo peeks out from under her sleeve. Her hair is pulled back in wavy curves, with a red bandana folded up and tied in a knot above her forehead, Rosie-the-Riveter style. Bucky smiles, _finally_ feeling a little bit more at ease. Peggy had been nice when he met her. Surely that wouldn’t change now.

“Hello again, Barnes!” she says, tilting huge, round sunglasses down a little to show her eyes. She smiles, revealing her perfect teeth. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Angie,” Peggy adds, nodding to the woman sitting next to her on the grass. Angie twiddles her fingers at him, and pops her gum once before saying hello.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky says, waving back. Angie’s dressed similarly to Peggy, borrowing from the 1940’s in terms of cut and style.

“Okay,” Steve says, with a wide grin once Bucky turns back to him. “That’s everyone that’ll be on the bus…”

“No, _Parker_ , Rogers,” Nat says, pointing her beer bottle at them. “Don’t forget Parker.”

Steve slaps his hand to his forehead, shaking his head at himself. He sighs, and says, “Parker, duh,” before turning back to Steve and adding, “Okay, so this tour our record label wants us to document the whole thing, so they hired us a full-time photographer. His name’s Peter Parker, he’s real nice, and if you’re worried about being in pictures and you don’t wanna be, we can just tell him to make sure you’re not in any…”

Bucky shrugs. What does he care about being in pictures? Who’s gonna recognize him?

Steve regains his smile. “Alright then,” He says, and lets out a big sigh. “Want somethin’ to drink?”

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky says, with probably more enthusiasm than the answer really needs.

 

***

 

Two hours, five beers, and three hot dogs later, Bucky is feeling loose, and at ease. No one’s asked him about his arm, no one’s asked him about his service, and no one’s asked him anything ridiculously personal. Instead, he’s been badgered about his movie and television preferences. _That_ he can talk about without shaking and going dead behind the eyes. They determine, after basically interrogating him, that he’ll fit right in. It makes him smile, and feel warm in his chest. He’s never had anyone basically grab him and say they’re friends now, but that’s essentially what’s happened over the last two hours.

Bucky’s okay with it. He hasn’t had friends in a very long time.

He’s sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the way it feels cool against the exposed parts of his skin. The sky’s gone dark, but Steve has a small fire going in a brick lined pit in the middle of his yard. It gives off enough light to see everyone else in a yellow-orange glow. He leans up to watch his new friends. Nat and Clint are arguing about something in sign language, pointing and gesturing forcefully at one another. Thor has let his head fall back against the flimsy back of his chair, staring up at the night sky above them. Angie is sitting between Peggy’s legs, her head resting on her thighs. Peggy’s playing with her hair, softly running her fingers through it.

Steve is… Steve is sitting down right in front of him, folding his legs up underneath him. He grins. “Now that we’ve asked you a million questions… you got any for us?”

Bucky blinks at him, and then lets a small smile turn the corners of his mouth up. Sure, he’s got questions. He’s got a million questions, but the first one that falls out happens to be, “Who has the most tattoos?” so he asks it, and lets his eyes dart along Steve’s arms where ink colors the pale expanse of his skin.

“Steve,” they all say at once. Bucky raises his eyes to look Steve in the face, and raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve got… a lot,” he admits, with a shrug. He points to each place on his body as he talks. “Full sleeve, obviously. Then I’ve got a chest piece,” Steve tugs at the wide open side of his shirt to reveal the middle of his chest. Bucky tries and _barely_ succeeds at not staring at his nipple, which is small, dark pink and no, _nope_. Not staring. He drags his vision to the tattoo he’s supposed to be looking at. It’s the outline of a star, surrounded by red and blue lines bursting out from behind it. It’s not terribly big, but Steve isn’t terribly big either.

“I’ve got six tattoos on this arm,” He holds up his left arm, letting go of his shirt to show off smaller pieces by his wrist, upper arm, and in the elbow crease of his arm. Bucky sees the one by his elbow is  of a rippling flag done out in pink, purple and blue. He can’t remember which of the sexualities it represents, but he _does_ know that means Steve’s queer. That’s good. That’s… really good, actually, considering Bucky’s just flat out gay. Not that Bucky thought anyone in the band would care, but it’s good to know he won’t be the only queer person on the bus.

“I’ve got a calf piece on this leg,” Steve says as he taps his right leg, but he doesn’t move to pull up the legs of his jeans. Bucky’s not sure how he could, considering how tight they are. Tapping his left leg, Steve says, “And a small one by my ankle on this one. I’ve got the tops of both feet done, too.” Steve looks up then, twists to show the space behind his ear. There’s a green four leaf clover there, smaller than a dime. “And this one, for my mom. She was born in Ireland,” Steve explains, shifting to sit more comfortably. “So… I don’t even know how many that is, anymore.”

“A lot,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. It’s more than he’d originally thought, but he’s only seen Steve in pants, so how was he supposed to know what was hiding under the fabric? Steve snorts a laugh, and nods.

“Have you got any?” Thor asks, nodding towards Bucky.

“No, I, uh, don’t have any body modifications,” Bucky answers, shaking his head. He chews on his lip, and adds with half a laugh, “Do I need one to work for you guys?”

Steve snorts back laughter again, but shakes his head. “No, they aren’t, but you uh, have a big modification...” He gestures towards Bucky’s metal arm, looking almost unsure if he’s allowed to bring it up or not.

Bucky looks down at his left arm, and lets out a loud bark of a laugh. “Oh _shit_ , I guess I do.”

There’s a smattering of laughter from everyone else, and Bucky feels warm in his chest again. They aren’t laughing in a mean way. They’re laughing because it was funny. _He_ was funny.

“How’d you lose it?” Clint asks, once again speaking too loud.

Natasha smacks him on the upper arm, saying, “Don’t be rude, Barton.”

“No, it’s, um, it’s fine, I guess?” Bucky says quietly. He’s not entirely sure he wants to answer that question yet, but they’ll wanna know eventually right? Everyone always wants to know. Better to just get it over with now, when he’s mostly drunk. He stares at his shoes ashe answers. It’s easier to talk about it when he isn’t watching someone’s expression shift into pity. “It was a suicide bomber in, uh, Afghanistan. I was close enough to the blast to get hit, but not close enough to, uh y’know, die. So… lost the arm here,” Bucky says, touching himself about halfway down his upper arm. “They took the rest of it when I got the metal arm. It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt, I don’t miss what was left or anything.”

It’s silent except for the chirp of crickets in the evening air, and then, after a beat, Steve speaks up and asks, “Do you have feeling at all in the metal one?”

Bucky nods, looks at his own metal palm. “It’s real sensitive in the tips of fingers, but everywhere else, I just feel pressure. No temperature differences either, so I can pick up hot stuff with it, no problem.” He sighs, and closes his eyes for a moment. “I don’t really like talking about it? But um. Yeah. It’s… cool, I guess?”

“We won’t ask about it any more, then,” Peggy says, with a kind smile when Bucky lifts his head to look at her.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, meaning it. Steve reaches out and squeezes his thigh, just above the knee. The touch sends a lick of heat right to the base of his spine. He likes it, likes being touched, especially by Steve. He just… doesn’t know what to do with it. Managing a tight smile in Steve’s direction, Bucky hopes its enough.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

***

  **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

it’s ass o’clock in the morning, but we’re ON THE BUS!

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@STARPLANband why’d we have to leave this early again? 😩

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza gonna guess it’s my fault bc i’ve never been on time in my entire life

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza @sgrogers89 it’s steve’s fault 

***

 

Bucky gets home around eleven pm, yawning and half-drunk and barely gets any sleep that night. The party had been surprisingly more pleasant than he’d geared himself up for, so all the anxiety he’d pent up spills over into his brain as soon as he climbs into bed.

He spends three hours rolling around in bed, trying to get comfortable. When nothing works, he sits up against all his pillows, and scrolls through various news websites in an attempt to give his brain something to focus on. When _that_ doesn’t work, he just pulls himself out of bed and gives up. The bus has bunks on it. Maybe he can sleep on there while they head towards the first show of the tour.

Bucky meanders around his apartment until six, touching random things, sitting in random spots, and opening and closing random apps on his phone. He has nothing to do. All his bills have been paid, his (almost nonexistent) mail is being held at the post office, and his fridge is almost totally empty. There’s nothing else keeping him here.

Letting out a sigh, he runs a hand through his messy hair, and starts to pile together everything he’s bringing with him. Bucky rolls the hard shell suitcase to his front door, then grabs his favorite pillow off his bed, and shoulders up his old black backpack. (His laptop, Kindle, and daily meds are stored in there, along with all his various chargers, just in case.) Turning to look at his depressingly small and empty apartment once more, Bucky leaves, locking the door behind him.

It takes almost no effort at all to haul the stuffed-full suitcase into the trunk of his car. He shoves the pillow in next to it, and puts his backpack in the passenger side seat next to him. There’s delicate stuff in there -- nothing he wants broken by the heavier suitcase smashing into it. Once everything’s settled, Bucky shoves his key into the ignition and backs out of his parking spot.

Everyone’s meeting at a long-term parking lot on the other side of the city, which means it takes Bucky longer than it should to cross the city, and find the right place. Once he’s pulled in and found the enormous red bus that’s to be home for the next three months, almost everyone’s milling about outside. A quick glance proves there’s no Steve, though. He parks where Peggy tells him to -- she waves her arms -- to direct him into a parking spot. Bucky gathers his things again, and goes to join the small crowd waiting around outside the bus.

“Hey - you made it!” Clint’s voice is loud, coming from somewhere over his shoulder. Bucky turns and takes in the drummer. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and his hair sticks out every which way. His eyes dip down to Clint’s clothes -- he’s wearing a black shirt over fuzzy purple pajama pants covered in… llamas, maybe? Bucky looks back up and smiles at him, just a little. Clint seems to be one of those types who just doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of him. Bucky likes that in a person. If only _he_ could be like that.

“I did, yeah,” Bucky says, still smiling. He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Do most people sleep on the bus the first day?”

Thor comes up to Clint’s side before he can answer, looking bleary-eyed and barely-awake. His hair is piled on top of his head in a looped ponytail. Little frizzy hairs stick out all over giving him a blond halo. “Most of us do, yeah,” Thor says, smiling widely. He turns his head away to yawn, clapping a square hand to his mouth to cover it. Once he regains the ability to speak, he adds, “It’s tradition to stay up late the night before, for God knows what reason…”

The door to the bus opens with a loud screech, and Nat pokes out to look at the crowd. “C’mon, boys, we wanna get a move on,” she says, nodding towards the interior of the bus.

Things move quickly after that. Thor takes over shoving gear into the storage space under the bus, grabbing bags and stacking them carefully amongst boxes and containers. Once that’s done, the doors swing shut. Everyone else slowly mills onto the bus, holding or wheeling luggage in front of them. Bucky looks around and his stomach clenches. Steve still isn’t here. No one else seems worried, though, so maybe it’s okay? It’s not like they’re gonna go on tour without their lead singer, right?

Bucky steps up into the bus after Thor, and is struck dumb by the sight of where he’ll be spending the next three months. It’s large inside, way bigger than he thought it would be. There’s a little kitchen area behind the driver’s seat, complete with a sink, a microwave, small fridge and a few cabinets. A table and a booth for sitting are opposite the kitchen area. Behind that are the bunks. There’s eight of them, four on each side. On the right side, just behind the bunks, is a tiny bathroom. Beyond that is another sitting area, but this one is completely made up of couches, squashy cushiony things that look amazingly comfortable. A big TV sits opposite the couches, currently cycling through a screensaver.

He’s hovering at the end of the bunks, wondering what he’s supposed to do, when Natasha comes up behind him.

“You wanna pick out a bunk?” she asks, with a tiny smile. It barely reaches her eyes, but Bucky will take it. “Newbie gets to pick first, as a general rule…”

“Uh, okay…” Bucky says, making a face. He turns and faces the beds, looking at both sides before finally pointing at a bottom bunk towards the front of the bus. A lower bunk will be easier for him than trying to get his bulk up into one of the smaller, upper beds. “That one, I guess,” he says, with a shrug. Natasha does her almost-smile again, and swings up effortlessly into the bed above his. Bucky stares at her for a moment, and then sets his backpack in his new space.

“Hey! You’re here!” Steve’s voice comes from the front of the bus, sounding excited. Bucky watches as he worms his way past everyone to stand beside him. He looks… good, considering what time it is and what time he was up until the previous night. Steve’s got wire-rimmed glasses on, which are new to Bucky. They look good on him, he decides. The glasses make him look younger, like he should be in school somewhere. Steve’s hair is a mess, like always, but Bucky’s beginning to think that’s how he wants it to look. He’s got a thick black hoodie on, and grey sweatpants that look way too big for him. He’s smiling at Bucky like he’s been waiting for him all day. Bucky can’t help but smile back. His chest feels warm.

“I am!” Bucky says, with a soft laugh. “Was beginning to think you weren’t coming, though…”

“He’s _always_ late, Barnes,” Nat offers, sticking her head out from between the curtains of her bunk. She disappears back inside after shooting a withering look in Steve’s direction. Steve sticks his tongue out at her.

“Which bunk did you pick?” Steve asks, looking at the available choices. There’s only two options for Steve, both directly across from Bucky.

Bucky points at his, and nods towards it. “This one,” he says, rather unnecessarily.

Steve, with a sleepy sounding sigh, throws his bag in the upper bed directly across from Bucky’s. He doesn’t climb up, though, instead turning to grin at Bucky again. “I always take the top bunks -- they’re smaller and… well,” He gestures at himself with a laugh. Steve cocks his head at Buck, and asks, “Anyone give you the tour?”

“Kinda gave myself one?” Bucky answers with a shrug.

“Pssht, that’s no good, c’mon, I’ll show you,” Steve says, taking him by the arm again and leading them back towards the sitting area. He pauses by the bathroom, points at it. “Bathroom. We usually stop for a hotel every other night, so don’t worry about showers. And a lot of green rooms actually have them, too? It’s kind of weird, but they come in handy…” He grins at Bucky, and tugs him further on into the sitting room. “Living room. We hang out a lot back here, when we aren’t driving each other nuts. There’s Netflix, and Hulu on the TV. There’s wifi through the whole bus, and we’ve got an Xbox and a PS4 somewhere on here…” Steve flops down onto the couch, and wiggles his way into one of the corners. He pats the seat next to him.

Bucky moves around a small coffee table that’s bolted to the floor and sits down where Steve indicates. Not too close, just… close enough. There’s about six inches between their thighs. He wants nothing more than to scoot even closer, to let their legs touch, just a little. He won’t, though. Bucky’s not going to assume that Steve’s interested in him.

“We’ll be heading off as soon as Parker shows up,” Steve says, burrowing himself into the many pillows and cushions. Bucky settles himself back against them, and tries to relax. Steve continues talking, “He said he was about five minutes out when he texted fifteen minutes ago, so… guess he’ll show up when he shows up.”

Bucky nods. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bucky realizes he has no idea how to really start a conversation. He’s not good at this. He hasn’t been good at this in ages.

“You nervous?” Steve asks, tilting his head a little as he looks at Bucky.

“A little. Never done anything quite like this before…”

“You’ll do great, I know it,” Steve says, with the confidence of someone who knows what they’re talking about. If only Bucky could believe him as much as Steve seemed to believe himself, but he hasn’t had that sort of natural swagger since he came back from Afghanistan sans one arm. But regardless, he smiles at Steve, watching as he rearranges the pillows to his liking. Steve looks up at him with a tiny grin, and says, “Don’t worry too much, okay? We’re all pretty easy going.”

Bucky bites on his lip, and then says, “Tell me about them? Everyone else?”

Steve blinks, and shifts again, rotating so his shoulders are squashed into the corner of the couch. He lets his head fall back against the cushions he’s shoved behind him, flashing a smile in Bucky’s direction. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

Bucky shrugs a little, not sure exactly what he’s looking for. He goes back to chewing on his lip, and then says, “Just… more? In general, I mean...” He flicks his eyes to the TV, watching the little logo bounce off the sides of the screen.

“Well,” Steve starts, sentence broken off by a jaw-cracking yawn, letting the yawn taper off before attempting to speak again. He shakes himself a little, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. Steve shoots him a playful glare. “I’m tired, shoot me. Anyway -- uh. Hm.” Steve shuts his mouth, and narrows his eyes towards the bunks where his bandmates are attempting to sleep. “Well, Natasha and I grew up together -- we were in the same foster family after my mom died. I’ve known her since I was thirteen. She’s basically my younger sister.” Steve shrugs a little, and looks over at Bucky before he continues. Bucky gives him what he hopes is an interested look.

“Clint we met in high school. Nat learned sign language for him. He and Nat are a thing, but they think they’re sneaky and no one knows. We all know. Absolutely none of us are surprised.” Steve laughs, shaking his head at his friends. “Clint is real easy goin’ by the way. I mean, all of us are, but Clint takes it to another level. You could throw food at his face and he’d just say ‘thanks’ and eat it,” Steve says with a wide grin. “Like I said last night, Thor’s a giant teddy bear. He wouldn’t hurt a fly unless he saw the fly hurt someone else first. He’s married to a real cool lady named Sif -- she’s in her own band and is on the road right now, too. They try to schedule so they can be home at the same time, y’know?”

Bucky nods, feeling like Steve’s waiting for acknowledgement before he continues.

“Thor we met when he was a foreign exchange student senior year. He’s from Norway, but he’s hardly gone back since coming over for school…” Steve lets his voice drift off, and then shakes his himself again. “I’m sorry, Buck, just… tired.”

“You wanna go lay down for a while?” Bucky asks, nodding towards the beds. They can have this conversation any old time. There’s no rush.

Steve winces and shakes his head. He covers another yawn before he can answer. “No, just kinda wanna stay here. Wish I had grabbed my blanket is all.”

Bucky’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Just the one off your bed?” he asks, taking the four or five steps it takes to the entrance to the bunk section of the bus.

Steve’s eyes go wide, but he shakes his head. “Bucky -- you don’t have to get it, I’ll be fine I promise.”

Bucky makes a face at him, and points towards Steve’s bunk, waiting for an answer before he moves.

Steve sighs, but says, “There’ll be a rainbow fleece one in my bag? Right at the top.”

Bucky stomps down the hallway for a few steps before remembering most people are trying to sleep. He shifts into a silent heel-toe walk, coming up to Steve’s bunk almost immediately. He pulls out the bright red duffle bag Steve had shoved on top of the bed, and unzips it. Sure enough, there’s a violently colorful tie-dye fleece blanket rolled up right at the top. Bucky grabs it and tucks it under his metal arm before rezipping the bag and setting back on Steve’s bunk. He moves silently back to the sitting room, trying not to stare too hard at the small form squashed into the corner.

“Here you go,” Bucky says, sitting back in his original spot, and holding the blanket out to him. Steve takes it, locates the end, and flicks the blanket out with a _fwoomp_. It’s a huge square of fabric, plenty large to cover them both comfortably. A small section lands over his lap. Steve rearranges it so Bucky has more access to it, looking up at him with a smile. “Better?” Bucky asks, feeling that warm softness from last night creep back up into his chest.

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve says, giving him another sleepy smile. He settles back into the pillows again, this time a little closer to Bucky due to the blanket he has pulled up around his chin. “If I fall asleep on you, just shove me off, okay?”

Ha. As if Bucky would _ever_ do that, but he nods all the same.

“So where was I?” Steve asks, a beat later. He closes his eyes for a moment, and Bucky’s struck by just how beautiful he is. He’s delicate, finely-boned like a bird. The skin over his temples is almost translucent, he’s so pale. Bucky wants to press his lips there, soft as a whisper.

“Um,” Bucky says, yanking his vision away from Steve. He goes back to staring at the TV. “Thor?”

Steve makes a face, and shakes his head. “Nah, we’ll go on to Peggy and Angie. Pegs I met the single year I actually went to college -- for art, of all things. We met at the stupid social gathering they made all first-years go to at the beginning of the year, and then we kinda dated for awhile, but that did not work out _at all_. So now we’re friends,” Steve turns and grins at Bucky. “There’s no bad feelings or anything between us, just in case you were wondering. We just work better platonically than romantically.”

Bucky nods, like he understands, even though he does not. He’s never stayed friends with any of his exes. Ever. All two of his long-term relationships ended with screaming matches, or with him grabbing all his shit and leaving dramatically. He does not have a good track record with these kinds of things.

After yet another yawn, Steve continues, “Angie came along sometime between when I left college, and when we started up STAR PLAN.” He tilts sideways a bit, falling further into the many pillows on the couch. Bucky finds himself leaning towards him, as subtly as he can manage. “She’s real sweet, y’know? She drives the bus 90% of the time, ‘cause she’s got the license for it, and for some reason she really likes it,” Steve adds, with another muted laugh. His eyes close a little, drooping slowly. Bucky watches, chest tight. They’re both exhausted. They should really go get in their own bunks and sleep a little bit, but Bucky doesn't want to. He wants to stay here, and listen to Steve’s voice until he falls asleep. Scrabbling through his tired brain, Bucky comes up with an excuse to stay.

“You wanna put on a movie or somethin’?” Bucky asks real soft, so not to startle Steve back to wakefulness.

“Sure,” Steve whispers back, nodding once. He flicks a hand towards the various remotes and controllers on the coffee table in front of them. “White ones for the TV, and the Xbox controller for Netflix and all the other stuff. Y’know how to use it?”

Bucky nods back, punching the power button on the white remote, and grabbing for the Xbox controller. It feels familiar in his hand, though he hasn’t actually played a video game since before he left for Afghanistan. He turns the system on, and navigates through the various menus to finally pull up Netflix. The screen flashes black with the red logo, before opening into the actual app itself.

“Got any requests?” Bucky asks, quiet.

“Anything from our list -- it’s all stuff we’ve seen a million times so if we get distracted or somethin’ it doesn’t matter…” Steve says, half the words slurring together with tiredness. Bucky looks at him with a small smile on his face, and turns away to find something to watch.

Most of the movies on the list are things Bucky’s seen, but there’s a few he doesn’t recognize. He bypasses those, and puts on _Boondock Saints_ \-- he’s seen it approximately eight bajillion times. Steve makes a pleased noise, and shifts a little so he’s comfortable. Bucky does the same, wiggling to get himself in a good spot, and then settles back to watch the movie.

 

***

 

“Barnes.”

Bucky blinks awake at the sound of his name coming from somewhere to his right. There’s a warm weight all along his left side. A quick glance proves that Steve has slumped to the right, and plastered himself against Bucky. His head is against Bucky’s shoulder, face smushed into the fabric of his shirt. It can’t be comfortable -- that’s his metal arm -- but Bucky’s not about to wake him or move him. He goes still, instead, and wishes he could make his arm softer. Squinting against the light of the bus, Bucky yawns widely before acknowledging the red-headed woman perched on the couch beside him.

“Nat?”

“I need to talk to you,” she says, by way of confirming that it’s her.

“Okay?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow at her. The bus is moving now -- there’s a vast expanse of trees shooting by through the window. A quick glance down the length of the bus proves everyone else is still in their bunks. They can’t have been asleep back here for very long, then. He looks back at Nat. “So talk?”

She lets out a soft sigh, and scoots closer. Bucky sees she’s wearing the sames clothes she had on earlier, but she’s lost the black leather boots. She’s got bright purple socks pulled up her shins, instead. “It’s about Steve,” she says, keeping her voice as quiet as possible.

Bucky’s other eyebrow shoots up to join its twin.

“There’s stuff you need to know that he won’t tell you,” Nat says, folding a leg up underneath her so she’s sitting on her own foot. Bucky nods once, waiting for her to just say whatever she’s come to say. He doesn’t do so hot when people drag shit out unnecessarily. She takes a breath, and goes on, “He’s severely asthmatic -- if you wear cologne, you’ll have to stop, because that sets him off. Smoke does too, which is why we don’t use smoke machines or fog or anything like that in our shows. You don’t smoke, do you?” She looks at him suddenly, with an intense expression, ready to leap between him and Steve at a moments notice.

Bucky blinks, and shakes his head as gently as he can. “Used to, but I gave it up a long time ago. Not an issue.”

Natasha nods, and relaxes an infinitesimal amount. “Good. Now, there’s something else…

“You were hired to be security for us, but not really _all_ of us. Mostly just for him.” She nods towards Steve, snoring away on his shoulder. “He does shit he’s not supposed to all the time. Peggy got tired of it and hired you.”

Bucky blinks at her again, unsure how to take all of this. It’s not really what he expected, if he’s being honest. He’s not entirely sure Nat’s telling the truth. “Then why didn’t _she_ tell me?”

At this, Natasha actually laughs, just a little. “He overheard her talking with a guy from the label about hiring extra security, and wanted to be in on the interview. Peggy thought it was a good idea, mostly so he’d mesh well with whoever they ended up hiring. She was planning on telling you sometime soon, whenever she could get you without Mighty Mouse over there.”

“So I’m a glorified babysitter?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his voice quiet. A part of him is upset that he wasn’t told the truth about the position, but the other part of him is glad he’ll have an excuse to stay close to Steve. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

“No,” Natasha says, shaking her head sharply. “You’re security. You gotta keep him on stage, at all costs. He likes to… well, he likes to fight assholes in the crowd.”

Bucky sighs, mostly through his nose. He brings up his right hand -- the one that isn’t trapped under Steve’s solid weight -- and pinches the base of his nose. He’s not surprised, not really, because he’d watched Steve leap off the stage to crowd surf in that one YouTube video. “He fights people?” Bucky asks, pulling his hand away from his face to look at Natasha. She nods. “Does he know he’s the size of the average fourteen-year-old?” She nods again, a hint of a smile around her mouth.

“It’s never stopped him from kicking someone’s teeth in,” Natasha says, before she adds, “It’s also never stopped him from getting the shit beaten out of him. Which is why you were brought in…”

“To stop fights?” Bucky asks, just for clarification.

She smirks a little before she answers, “To stop Steve from fighting, and to watch the crowd for people being shitty to each other.”

Bucky nods, and turns his attention to the man currently sleeping on him. Steve’s out like a light, like all his strings have been cut. He’s burrowed way deep into his blanket and the pillows, trying to keep warm. His face is still smooshed into Bucky’s metal arm, his mouth open against the black fabric of Bucky’s sleeve. He has no idea where Steve’s glasses went, but they’ll find them eventually, he figures. And honestly, the whole thing it’s… it’s not _really_ cute, if he thinks about it objectively, but he can’t, so it’s cute to him. Steve’s asleep on him. It makes him feel warm, and wanted. He turns back to Natasha, and nods again.

“Anything else?” he asks, just to check before he tries to sleep again.

She shakes her head. “No. Just wanted to be sure you knew everything.”

“Okay,” he says, offering her a small smile. “I’m gonna try go to back to sleep now…”

“Y’know, you could move him, if you wanted? Sleep in a real bed?” Natasha says, as she’s pulling herself back up to her feet.

Bucky’s eyes go wide, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to,” he admits, with a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He hopes she doesn’t notice. He doesn’t need anyone lording that over him. Not so soon, not ever.

She gives him a pointed look, shrugs, and pads off back to her own bunk. Bucky looks up in time to see her vault directly into the bed over his own. He rolls his eyes, and settles himself back onto the couch fully. If everyone else is asleep, he should be too.

 

***

 

Bucky wakes to a small hand on his shoulder, shaking lightly. He opens one eye, and then the other when he’s greeted by the sight of Steve leaning over him, looking slightly concerned. He looks more put together than he had earlier, a little more well-rested all around. Bucky blinks a little, and then stretches his arms up towards the ceiling. His spine pops back into place with an audible clicking noise. As he moves, the rainbow blanket falls off his chest and puddles in his lap. Steve must have covered him with it whenever he got up. His heart squeezes once in his chest.

“Steve?” he says, yawning.

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning against the arm of the couch. He smiles softly before hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the front of the bus. “We’re getting ready to stop for food, so I wanted to make sure that you were awake…”

“Thanks,” Bucky answers, with his own sleepy smile. “Where are we stopping?” A quick glance out of the windows proves the sky has gone a pretty pink-orange color as the sun sets. There’s nothing to look at except more trees, and maybe the occasional road sign.

“Um, I think just McDonald’s, honestly,” Steve says, with a disgusted face. “But that’s what everyone voted on, so…” He shrugs, and slides off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion next to Bucky.

“Everyone else awake now?” Bucky asks, rubbing at his eyes with his right hand. He doesn’t usually like naps. He always wakes up disoriented. His entire world always feels like everything got shifted to the left a few inches.

Steve makes an affirmative noise, nodding back towards the front of the bus again. “They’re all hanging out up front, playing some card game.” He smiles again, stands up and holds hand out towards Bucky. “C’mon, they’ll deal us in.”

Bucky takes his hand, but doesn’t use him as leverage to pull himself to his feet. Steve would topple over if he did. Instead, he gets up on his own steam, and lets Steve lead him to the front of the bus.

It turns out he’s no good at Cards Against Humanity.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

hey BOSTON, you ready for us?

 

 **THOR** ⚡ _@theTHUNDERER_ **✔**

@STARPLANband  we’re gonna kill it for you tonight

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@STARPLANband we’re SO READY TO ROCK for you BOSTON!!!!!

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@STARPLANband you better be ready, cause we’re here for ya!

 

***

The next morning, Bucky feels a million times better. He sleeps (even longer) in his bunk after the McDonald’s stop, and finds it’s way more comfortable than he’d been expecting. Peeling himself out of his bunk at 9:30 sharp, Bucky’s surprised to find a few of the band members already awake. Thor’s stretched out on one of the couches at the back, watching something on the big TV. He’s wearing nothing but plaid pajama bottoms, the vast expanse of his wide muscly chest on view, his hair piled on the top of his head. A blanket is pulled up over his wide shoulders. Natasha is curled up on another one of the couches, wearing a striped sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her red hair. She’s tapping away at her laptop, focused solely on her task. Peter is barely awake on the other couch, blinking at the TV like it has the answers to all of life’s questions. Bucky had met him playing cards the previous night, and found him to be pleasant enough, even if he liked to talk an awful lot.

“Mornin’,” Bucky says, rubbing at one of his eyes. Thor waves, too busy yawning to answer verbally.

“There’s coffee in the kitchenette,” Nat says, without looking up from her screen. “Help yourself. There’s sugar and powdered creamer in the cabinets.”

Bucky brightens, turns on his heel and heads towards the coffee maker he saw yesterday. Sure enough, there’s plenty in the pot. He rummages through the cabinets, finds a clean-looking mug and pours himself some coffee. Another rummage through the cabinets finds packets of sugar -- he pours two directly into his mug, and throws away the trash in a little can next to the counter. Holding his mug carefully, Bucky makes his way back to the sitting room. He looks at Steve’s bunk as he passes. The curtains are shut tight to block out the light.

Once back in the sitting area, he sits down on the other end of the couch Nat’s on. Curling up into the corner, Bucky sips at his coffee. He’s never been a morning person -- he vastly prefers sleeping in to hopping up right at the crack of dawn. After sleeping so much during the day yesterday, his sleep schedule is all fucked up, which makes his brain feel all cottony. He glances up at the TV to see what Thor’s watching, and is mildly surprised to see a baking show flickering over the screen. An older woman with bright white hair is explaining gently how to make a red velvet cake. Over the course of the next few minutes, Bucky finds himself paying attention to the show. It’s soothing.

By the time his mug is empty, a few more people have slowly made their way out of their bunk to join the sleepily-watching-food-shows crowd in the back of the bus. Angie had padded her way back a few minutes after Bucky, curling up on the couch next to Thor, slowly chewing on a piece of toast. (After a mild panic, Bucky had been informed that Clint was currently driving.) Peggy was the next to show up, wearing red leggings with black polka dots all over them, and a huge black shirt that had STAR PLAN’s logo printed on it. Her hair was twisted up into a bun on the top of her head. In one hand she held a mug of what looked like tea, and in the other, she had a tablet.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, smiling at Bucky. She sat carefully between him and Natasha, laying her tablet in her lap so she could sip at her tea with both hands.

Bucky nods at her, sort of smiling. He’s still not entirely conscious, but he’s working on it.

“I wanted to talk to you before Steve woke up…”

“If this is about what I think it is, Nat told me yesterday,” Bucky interrupts, nodding towards her. Nat turns her head just slightly, and gives them both a predatory smile before going back to doing whatever it was she was doing.

Peggy gives her a look with one raised eyebrow. “Oh did she now?”

“Yep,” Bucky says, staring forlornly down into his empty mug. Where’d all his coffee go? “About being Steve’s babysitter?”

Peggy turns her head slowly to face him, and fixes him with a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I won’t tolerate _that_ nonsense. You’re security, end of story. But if she told you about his health, then we can move on to the next subject,” she says, shifting her tea to her left hand, and tapping her tablet with a red-nailed finger. A map of a venue pops up at her touch. “You’ll be expected to be in your spot by 6:45 at the latest. Doors open at 7 at almost all of our shows. You’ll be here,” Peggy says, pointing at a location near the center of the stage. There’s a barricade about two feet back from the actual stage, preventing anyone from trying to jump onstage to join the band. Bucky’s familiar with the set up. “I have a lanyard with a badge for you, and a shirt. I’ll give you those when we arrive,” Peggy continues, after a pause to sip at her tea. “Any questions?”

Bucky thinks about it while chewing on his lip. He’s been security for concerts before, but never a punk show. He supposes they’re all similar enough that it shouldn’t be too difficult to get used to the fans of the genre. And as for his job, it should be the same regardless of the type of music playing: stop fights, don’t let idiots try to push anyone else around, protect the small, and make sure the band feels safe. He takes a shallow breath, and asks, “Is there anything I should watch out for?”

“We get a lot of guys trying to grope girls in the crowd,” Thor says, blinking away from the TV to fix Bucky with a serious look. “Steve can’t stand it, so he usually says something over the mic. If that doesn’t work, he jumps in to put a stop to it… usually with his fists.”

Bucky hisses through his teeth, imaging tiny Steve leaping into the middle of the crowd to knock someone’s teeth in. “I’ll try to stop it before it gets to that point,” he says, shaking his head. It wouldn’t be a hardship to have to kick an asshole out for trying to get his hand up a girl’s shirt.

He has to admit that he kind of wants to watch Steve jump of the stage to start a fight. He wonders how the singer fights -- is it all flying fists and rage, or is it calculated to put an end to the fight as quickly as possible? A tiny part of him is absolutely 100% sure it’s the former.

“You should know,” Thor starts, pausing to yawn again. He continues a moment later, “Most our fans are underage girls. We’re very protective of them.”

“I will be too,” Bucky says, with a firm nod. Everyone should be able to go to whatever show they want, and feel comfortable there. He’ll do his best to make that a reality.

“Good,” Thor says, with a wide smile. He turns back to the TV.

“You should _also_ know,” Angie says, voice a little rough from disuse. She clears her throat before continuing, “A lot of their fans are members of the LGBTQ community, so you’ll see a lot of pride flags every night. Some fans -- very few -- don’t appreciate that. So… watch out for hateful language being tossed around.”

“We don’t tolerate that at all, seeing as most of us fall on that spectrum,” Peggy says, looking stony. “If you so much as hear it, and you know who said it, you have our permission to throw them out.”

Bucky is baffled that anyone going to a show by this particular band would have the audacity to be hateful. He’d seen right away how inclusive they were just by watching their YouTube channel. Rainbow flags had been everywhere in the live videos. How on earth anyone would think they’d get away with being a bigot at one of their shows is beyond him.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Bucky says, going back to chewing on his lip. If he hears anything hateful, he’ll tear through the crowd to find out who did it. Better that he take care of it, than Steve tries to.

“WE’RE ABOUT TEN MINUTES OUT FROM BOSTON,” Clint shouts down the length of the bus. A loud groan rumbles out from Steve’s bunk. The curtains rustle a little, but don’t open. Bucky thinks maybe he turned over in his sleep.

Angie shakes herself awake from her spot on the couch and pulls herself up to her feet. She rubs at her eyes a little before moving down to her bunk and grabbing a bag that she’d stashed in there. Bucky watches as she digs through it, grabs a pile of clothes and a little red makeup bag, and disappears into the tiny bathroom. She emerges wearing a black sundress covered in daisies, and as Bucky looks, she tugs on a white cardigan over it. He turns attention away from her to see that everyone else is starting to gather their shit up and get ready to arrive at the first stop of the tour.

Bucky waits until everyone else is done in the bathroom before taking his own turn. When he steps out of the small stall-like room, he feels a little better overall. It’s amazing what a clean face, and a quick brush of the teeth can do. Today, he’s got on his dark wash jeans, and one of the black long-sleeved shirts he’d bought in bulk at Target. His hair is pulled back in a little bun at the base of his neck with small fly-away strands already breaking free of the hold. He brushes them behind his ear while stopping at his bunk to chuck his bag onto his bed.

“Should we wake him up?” he asks Nat as she passes by. She stops, glances at Steve’s bunk, and then makes a face at Bucky like he should already know the answer to his question.

“Wait ‘til we get to the hotel, and then, yeah, wake him up. He loves Boston,” Natasha deigns to answer. She tacks on a small smile at the end of her sentence, and then brushes past to go sit in the small kitchenette area at the front of the bus.

Bucky stares at her back for a minute -- what’s _her_ problem? -- before leaning back into his own bunk to grab his Kindle. He heads towards the back of the bus again, and settles once more into his spot on one of the couches. They’re more comfortable than they look, but he finds himself missing the warm weight of Steve next to him. He shakes that thought out of his head, and loses himself in a sci-fi novel until he feels the bus come to a stop.

“Alright, you lot!” Peggy’s voice comes from the front of the bus. She’s standing on the cushion part of the booth, towering over everyone to keep their attention. Bucky hurries to stand behind the small group looking up at her. “Show starts at 8. Ang and I will get your shit to your hotel rooms. You are expected on the bus by 5:45 _at the latest_. Warm-ups at 6:00, doors open at 7:00. Uber is in the city, but I recommend using the T! There’s a station about two blocks that way.” Peggy points down the street towards another hotel. She turns back to the group, and shoos them towards the bus door with both hands. “Go explore. We’ll see you at 5:45.”

Thor, Peter, Natasha, and Clint thunder off the bus, leaving Bucky standing awkwardly in the small hallway between the bunks. Angie and Peggy hop off the bus, too, but they move towards the side and start opening the cargo doors to get out suitcases. He chews on his cheek for a moment, but moves towards Steve’s bunk.

“Steve?” Bucky says, loud enough to be heard, but not as loud as Clint had been earlier.

“Hnng?” comes a voice from inside the bunk.

“We’re in Boston. Nat told me to wake you up.” When this produces nothing but silence, Bucky changes tactics. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet before saying, “I’ve never been here before. Nat said you love this city. You wanna show me around, or something?”

There’s movement inside the bunk, and then Steve’s head pops out from the end of the curtains. His hair is a complete mess, standing straight on end. There’s pillow lines down one cheek. He blinks at Bucky, and then squints -- he’s missing his glasses. “You’ve never been to Boston?” He asks, looking dumbfounded.

“Nope,” Bucky answers, popping the last syllable of the word.

“Give me twenty minutes,” Steve says, pulling his head back inside the bunk. Bucky moves away just in time for Steve to hop down from his bunk. He removes his duffle bag from where it had been squeezed into a cabinet by his bunk. Buck sits on his own bed, watching with mild interest as Steve digs through his bag for clothes. He disappears into the small bathroom, leaving Bucky to stare out the window at their surroundings.

They’re in the middle of the city, surrounded by tall buildings. Bucky has no bearings otherwise on where they are. He’s heard good things about Boston, but doesn’t have any personal frame of reference on what they should go do. When Steve emerges from the bathroom, he’s in the process of yanking his phone out of his back pocket to check for ideas.

He still looks tired, and the pillow lines are still etched into his left cheek, but he’s smiling wider than Steve’s ever seen before. He’s got on a black and white vertically striped short-sleeve shirt, tucked into white skinny jeans. The knees are destroyed, ripped through to show pale skin underneath. The worst part of the whole ensemble -- in Bucky’s opinion -- are the white suspenders that Steve’s got pulled up over his shoulders. They make Bucky feel things. He wants to slowly pull them off Steve so they dangle behind him, he wants to snap them against Steve’s chest, he wants to rip them off and unbutton Steve’s shirt with his teeth.

Instead, Bucky settles for swallowing thickly, and saying, “You look good.”

Steve beams at him.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to [deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium) cause she's a giant sweetie.

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

hey boston, where’s the best place to get lunch?

 

***

 They’re on their way to the subway station when it occurs to Bucky that he knows little to nothing about Steve as a person. He knows that he’s in a band, he’s seen most of his tattoos, and he knows that Steve’s righteous enough to jump in to protect someone who can’t protect themselves. But other than that… there’s very little he has to go on. What are they supposed to talk about for an entire day?  Bucky looks at Steve sideways as they walk, watching as he kind of bounces with each step he takes. It’s like there’s a beat running through him that only Steve can hear.

A lady walking her dog squeezes past and Bucky stops dead in his tracks as something occurs to him. It takes a moment for Steve to notice, but when he does he goes still.

“Buck?” he asks, tilting his head to the side like a puppy who doesn’t understand an odd noise.

“Where’s your dog? Where’s Strider?” Bucky asks, concerned. He hadn’t thought of Steve’s dog until he’d seen the lady with hers. Was he just in boarding for two months? That seemed unfair to him, but what did Bucky know about dogs? He’d never had one, despite wanting one his entire life. His dad was allergic, and well, after everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t think he’s ready for that type of responsibility.

Steve blinks at him, and then bounces closer, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. “He’s with my foster parents! They watch him whenever we go out on tour. Were you worried about him?”

Bucky nods, feeling a little silly. Of course Steve would take good care of his dog. Why the hell was he stressed about it?

“That’s nice of you to be concerned, really,” Steve says, with a wider smile. “Dr. Erskine spoils him rotten, though, so don’t worry. I’ll pick him up when we get back, and he’ll weigh like five pounds more than when I dropped him off.” Steve digs into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. With a swipe of a finger, the screen lights up. He taps at it for a few seconds, and then tips the screen in Bucky’s direction. A short video of Strider plays over and over, showing the dog catching treats thrown by whoever holds the camera. “Doc sent this today,” Steve says, with a laugh.

“He looks happy,” Bucky says, after watching the video play through for a fourth time.

“He is, I promise,” Steve says, flashing a grin at Bucky before sliding his phone back into his pocket. He lets out a breath before turning back towards Bucky. He stands in front of him, and looks up with a determined expression, hands on his hips. “Now, whatcha wanna go do? There’s good museums, good shopping, and really good food, or we could do some of the historical stuff?”

Huffing out a sigh, Bucky shrugs. He’s not good at decisions like this -- it always boils down to him being afraid of picking the wrong thing, and that the other person will resent him for it. Not that he thinks Steve would do that -- Steve doesn’t seem the type. But still. Decisions are hard. “I don’t… know. Can we do a little of everything?”

Steve screws his face up as he thinks, and starts walking backward. Bucky follows, watching carefully on the ground in front of him so he can tell Steve if he’s about to trip. He gets close to a big dip in the sidewalk, and Bucky reaches out to correct him before he can fall. He gets a smile for his efforts.

“I don’t think we have enough time to get through a museum before the show tonight, so maybe we just go walk around Quincy Market and Faneuil Hall Marketplace or something…” Steve says, finally turning around and walking normally at Bucky’s side.

“You say that like I know what those places are,” Bucky says, with a slight laugh.

“Quincy Market is an old building with like… a food court inside, and Faneuil Hall Marketplace is the area around it, with a bunch of cool stores and shit,” Steve answers, nudging Bucky with a shoulder to get him to turn a corner.

The T station isn’t much further than that -- just a short escalator ride down and suddenly they’re there. They buy day passes to the trains, and Bucky tucks his into his wallet, not wanting to lose it.

It’s loud and damp and hot under the earth, leaving Bucky feeling like he has to gasp to get a good breath in. He glances worriedly in Steve’s direction -- this can’t be great for his asthma, but he looks fine. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, leaning up against a column.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for their train on to arrive, rumbling into the station with a screech of brakes. They wait for people to get off, before hurrying on themselves. Steve manages to find them seats towards the back of one car.

“You hungry yet or should we just walk around first?” Steve asks, looking over at Bucky from his spot by the window. Grubby tile walls zoom past as the train rattles forward towards the next stop. Bucky pulls his phone out to look at the time -- 11:23 am. Not quite lunch time, but not quite breakfast time either. He shrugs.

“I can wait, if we wanna look around first?”

“Okay,” Steve says, with a nod. He retrieves his own phone from his pocket, and taps around on it. Bucky tries not to stare, but sees him open Twitter out of the corner of his eye. He types something into it, and hits submit. Bucky sees enough of the screen without moving his head to notice when Steve’s alerts go crazy.

“You got a lot of followers on there?” Bucky asks, nodding towards Steve’s phone screen once he looks up.

“Um not really?” Steve says, tapping around on his screen again. He holds up his own profile. Bucky sees that his user image is a picture of himself on Thor’s shoulders, holding up a rainbow flag. The header is of a crowd shot, probably from one of their shows? “Close to forty thousand, I guess?”

Bucky whistles. “That’s a lot, bud,” he says, eyes wide.

“Nah, the band twitter has close to 200,000,” Steve shakes his head, and taps back a screen or two to look at his timeline. He wiggles the phone at Bucky. “You got one?”

“A twitter?” Bucky asks, blinking. Steve nods. “Um, yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever tweeted anything… mostly just read everyone else’s, maybe a retweet every now and then...”

“Can I follow you?” Steve asks, with bright eyes. The train squeaks to a stop at another station -- Bucky looks up briefly to double check it’s not the one they’re supposed to get off on. It’s not. Most of the passengers get off, though, leaving them with one other person in the car with them.

“Um, I guess? I really don’t tweet, though,” Bucky says, yanking his own phone back out so he can figure out what the hell his twitter handle is. He’d made it two or three years back, and only rarely opens the app. Maybe he should follow Steve and the band, though. Just to keep up with what they’re saying.

“That’s okay,” Steve says, looking up with a smile.

“Alright,” Bucky says, with a shrug. If Steve wants to follow a blank page, then who is Bucky to stop him? With a quick glance at his screen, he rattles off his username for Steve. “JBBarnes310 is me.”

He watches as Steve dutifully types in the username, and clicks on his sad little profile. He doesn’t even have a user image -- it’s still just the blank egg that came with the account when he made it. Maybe he should fix that, y’know, eventually. Steve clicks FOLLOW, and grins up at Bucky like he’s proud of himself. Sure enough, a second later and his phone dings in his hand. Bucky looks down and sees the one little bubble above the alert icon. He clicks it and sees the message: **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** **has followed you**. Bucky taps Steve’s username, and follows him back. He then clicks through Steve’s profile to add the rest of the band to his timeline. Might as well.

“You should add a user image,” Steve suggests with a laugh. “You’re too cute not to share that face with the world.”

Bucky’s mind goes fuzzy for a second as Steve’s words sink in. Steve thinks he’s cute. _Steve thinks he’s cute._ His body catches up with his mind a second later, and a blush forms furiously over his cheeks. “Thanks?” Bucky says, after he gets his brain back online enough to be able to speak.

“Welcome!” Steve says, bumping his shoulder with Bucky’s before turning back to his phone. Bucky’s left to stare at the empty seats across from them, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

 

***

 

Three stops later, they get off and take the short walk to Faneuil Hall. Bucky spends the entire time looking at their surroundings with wide eyes. Boston seems to be a curious mix of old and new all thrown together with little regard for how it looks. There are glass structures right next to old squat brick ones. Bucky’s not sure how he feels about it yet, but it’s certainly giving him something to look at.

“Okay so,” Steve says, nudging Bucky with a shoulder. They turn a corner, and suddenly they’re there. People crowd the space, moving to and from, holding shopping bags and food and drink. There’s small kids with balloons. Live music is coming from somewhere, pumping through the air to bounce off the tall buildings around them. There’s a big brick structure with a bunch of windows, and a bell tower on top. Right across from it is another building, this one made out of stone, with large columns over the entrance. They both look like they were built around the same time as the Revolutionary War. Bucky startles -- considering where they are, they probably _were_. Steve continues like Bucky’s not quietly freaking out beside him, “This place is like a tourist trap. It’s gonna be crowded, and everything’s overpriced, but it’s fun. You see anything you wanna go into, lemme know.”

Bucky nods when Steve finally looks over. “What’s in those?” he asks, pointing towards the two buildings everything seems to be centered around.

Steve scratches at his cheek before answering. “Food in that one,” he points at the columned building, before gesturing to the other. “Shopping and stuff in that one.”

“Let’s go in that one?” Bucky says, nodding towards the brick building.

Steve shrugs, and leads the way.

They push through crowds to look at overpriced touristy crap. Leather handbags, wooden cutting boards, and so, so many shirts and sweatshirts and hats and scarves that all have BOSTON, MA proudly proclaimed on them. Bucky takes his time at one such booth, digging through a rack of sweatshirts to find the least tacky one. Steve, instead, digs through a stack of kid-sized shirts, trying his best to find the ugliest one. He tugs out a bright blue number with a cartoon crab on it. One of the crab’s claws is breaking the word BOSTON in half.

Holding it up to Bucky, Steve asks, “Is this the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Bucky makes a face, unsure of what he’s really being asked here. Does he want the truth, or does he want Bucky to agree with him? He’s not great at lying, so he goes for the truth and hopes for the best. “Um. Not really? I’ve seen worse today...”

Steve’s eyes narrow, a small glint appearing in them. “Where?” he asks, folding up the crab shirt delicately to return it to the pile.

Bucky gestures to a booth across the way, also filled with touristy crap. He motions at his own chest as he describes the shirt for Steve. “They had one that had like… neon paint splotches on it? With a giant lobster on it. Said ‘Boston’ in a kinda graffiti font?”

“That sounds atrocious, show me?”

They end up leaving the building with two bags -- one holds the ugly graffiti shirt in Steve’s size, the other, a black pullover sweatshirt in Bucky’s size that reads BOSTON in white block letters on the front. They were horrendously expensive, but Bucky finds he doesn’t care. The sweatshirt was soft on the inside, but big enough to accommodate his bulk without straining over his shoulders. That was worth $45 in his opinion.

“So you gonna explain the ugly shirt thing?” Bucky asks as they skirt around the stone building to make their way around the edge of the marketplace. Steve’s still mostly leading, as Bucky has no idea where they’re headed. It’s fine by him -- he has a better view this way, both to make sure Steve doesn’t hurt himself, and to just, y’know, _look_ at him.

Steve laughs, bright and happy. “It’s a thing Nat and I do. If we get a day in a city, we separate and find the ugliest goddamn shirts we can. The rules are it’s gotta have the city name on it somewhere, can’t be custom made, and it’s gotta be in a size we can actually wear…”

“Do you ever actually wear ‘em?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, nodding. “Sometimes to the shows, sometimes as sleep shirts, sometimes just to annoy each other…”

Bucky tries very hard not to picture Steve wearing the various ugly shirts while he bounces around on stage. It’s a testament to how attractive he finds Steve, because none of the ugly shirts he conjures up does anything to taint his affection towards the man. He pushes the images out of his head before asking, “So she’s gonna have one when we go back to the hotel?”

“Probably,” Steve says, with a shrug. “She usually wins, if I’m being honest.”

They pass a small family with a screaming toddler, and they make faces at each other as the kid’s screams grow higher and higher the longer he doesn’t get whatever is that he wants. They keep walking, picking up the pace to get out of range before they pass a young couple. They look a little lost as they poke at a map in front of them, raising their heads to look at their surroundings. Steve tugs Bucky over to the side for a moment to help them figure it out. Bucky watches as he introduces himself, and looks over their paper map. He gestures at it a few times, and then waves his arm in a general direction as he explains. It doesn’t take long for Steve to set them on the right path, sending them off with a wave and a smile.

“You’re real nice, y’know that?” Bucky says, as soon as Steve rejoins him. Anyone else would have just kept walking, leaving the couple to figure out their map on their own. Hell, he probably would have, but that was more because he was shy than anything else. He didn’t have an aversion to helping people, he just didn’t like strangers all that much.

Steve blushes faintly, his cheeks turning pink. He shrugs, saying, “It doesn’t cost anything to be nice.”

“Still!” Bucky says, with a smile.

Steve brushes him off, but gets them going forward again. They make their way around most of the marketplace before Bucky screeches to a halt in front of a comic store. He hovers near the entrance, not really wanting to force Steve to go inside. He peers into the windows, watching as people move around racks and racks of pop culture. There’s stacks of collectable statues, racks of shirts and socks and hats, and shelves packed with stuffed animals. A staircase towards the back leads towards a second floor.

“Wanna go in?” Steve asks, raising both eyebrows after watching Bucky do nothing for a solid minute.

“Yeah, but if you don't want to, it’s okay…”

Steve rolls his eyes, grabs Bucky by the metal forearm, and yanks him into the store. “Go, shop, I’ll follow you like a shadow, I swear.” Bucky hesitantly heads towards the racks of pins. He barely catches Steve’s words as he says under his breath, “It’s not like it’s a hardship…”

Bucky’s blush comes roaring back to life, coloring his cheeks bright red as he studies the spinning rack of enamel pins. Steve walks by, heading towards the shelves of stuffed animals. Bucky keeps one eye on him as he slowly spins the rack, trying to find one that fits Steve. There’s tons of pop culture references, and he even picks up one that says ‘YOU HAVE MY SWORD’ before stumbling onto the perfect one.

It’s a tiny bright pink heart with a banner wrapped around it that says, ‘DON’T BE A DICK.’ Bucky grabs it immediately, and holds it in his palm while looking at the rest. He grabs another for himself, figuring it can pin it to his lanyard when Peggy gives him his staff badge. It’s a small black circle that reads ‘ANTI-PEOPLE PERSON’ on it in shiny gold letters. With a quick glance towards Steve, who is still studying the stuffed animals, Bucky hurries towards the cashier to pay for the pins.

By the time he’s done, Steve is hovering a few yards away, looking curious. Once Bucky slides his wallet into his back pocket, he moves closer. “Did you buy somethin’? What’d you get?” Steve asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet next to him.

“Stuff,” Bucky answers, with a wide grin. He grabs the plastic bag from the counter and moves off to the side a bit so the next person in line can pay for their things. He fiddles with the flimsy thing, pulling out the pin he’d picked out for Steve. He holds it out to him on his palm, and hopes he did okay. “It’s for you,” Bucky says, with a slightly unsure expression.

“For me?” Steve says, eyes wide. He reaches out and takes the pin, twisting it in his hand to actually see what it says. Bucky can tell the second he finishes reading it, as he barks out a laugh. It crinkles his eyes in a real fascinating way. Bucky can’t stop staring.  “Oh man, I love it! Thanks, Buck,” Steve says, looking up at him with a smile. He pushes the pin through one of his suspenders, before replacing the back to fasten it in place. He puffs out his chest towards Bucky, giggling, as he asks, “How’s it look?”

Bucky laughs at the ridiculous pose before nodding at him. “It looks good. Very you.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, scrunching his nose up as he grins. He snaps his suspenders against his own chest, and then throws a thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna go upstairs at all?”

Bucky glances towards the staircase, and then shrugs. He assumes that’s where all the comic books actually are. He has a few at home, but hasn’t opened any of them in years. He doesn’t need any more to not read. “I was actually thinkin’ we could go get food now?” His stomach has been complaining for a good forty minutes now, grumbling away about the lack of anything but coffee.

“Sure!” Steve says, brightening. “C’mon, I know just the place…” He reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand like it’s nothing, and tugs him towards the exit. Bucky’s skin tingles under each and every one Steve’s fingers on him.

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

ended up getting burgers! thanks for all the suggestions, tho. you all are the best!

 

***

 

“So,” Steve says, as soon as they’re back on the subway. They’d gone back out to the market after getting food, and Bucky has three shopping bags sitting between his legs on the slightly-sticky floor beneath them. Steve found a stationary supply store and bought approximately one of everything before Bucky noticed the time. He’d dragged Steve to the cashier, and then they’d basically ran full tilt to the subway station. Steve’s breathing is still a little fast for Bucky’s taste, but it’s starting to finally slow down.

“So,” Buck parrots, a pleased rush running through him when he sees Steve’s cheeky smile in reply. He shoves at him playfully, sending Bucky swaying towards the center of the subway car.

“Sooo when we get back, I’m gonna stop talking basically ‘til the show. Gotta save the voice, y’know?” Steve says, with a softer smile. “We’ll get dressed and kinda fuck around for a little bit, get hydrated, and then we’ll head out to the venue. You said you’d done a show before, right?”

Bucky nods, still stuck up on the words ‘fuck around’. He knows Steve doesn’t mean it the way he’s _used_ to hearing it, but still. It’s… something. It sure is something. “Yeah, one or two, different genres, though.”

“You ever go to the soundchecks?” Steve asks, fiddling with the handle on one of his shopping bags. He’s bending in and then letting it po back up by itself.

“No, usually they had me arrive at a set time, and then told me where to be. I guess cause I’m travelin’ with you guys that’ll be different?”

“I mean, you don’t have to watch us rehearse? You can stay in the dressing room, if you want…” Steve says, looking back up at him with huge electric blue eyes. It’s clear, to Bucky at least, that Steve would greatly appreciate if he showed up to the soundcheck. And how on earth could he ever disappoint those eyes?

“No, I’d like to be there,” Bucky says, with a smile. He’s not sure how he’s gonna be able to sit through an entire soundcheck while Steve’s up on stage looking like he does. At least for the actual show, he’ll be facing the other direction. Plus, he’ll have the distraction of keeping an eye out for assholes. It’s unlikely he’ll get any chance to actually _watch_ the shows he’s doing security for.

Steve beams at him, and goes back to playing with the handle on his shopping bag. Bucky watches him do it, unable to stop grinning like an idiot.

It doesn’t take much longer for the train to arrive at their stop. They get off and thunder up the stairs. By the time they get back to the hotel, Peggy is waiting for them in the lobby. She’s sitting in one of the uncomfortable couches just to the left of the reception desk, tapping her toe.

“Well, you two certainly took your time getting back,” she says as soon as they make their way towards her. Steve winces. Peggy gives him a small smile before holding out a little envelope of room keys. Steve takes it from her, and pockets it immediately. “You have room 305. Everyone’s waiting for you in 306.” She pulls herself up to her full height and leads the way to the elevators.

They head up to the third floor, and without discussing it, both Bucky and Steve make a beeline towards their room. Bucky wants to at least check what it looks like, and maybe to grab a different shirt for the show. Steve pulls out the key to their room and slides it into the little reader. The light blinks green, and he shoves the door open.

It’s the standard hotel room, really. Bland beige walls, with bland boring art hung over the two queen beds that take up most of the floor space. There’s a dresser with a TV on it on the opposite wall, and a small desk tucked in the far corner. Their suitcases have been deposited between the mattresses -- his familiar red one stands next to a bright royal blue one, mostly covered in stickers of every shape and size. From what Bucky can tell, they’re all band logos.

“I’m gonna take the bathroom for a bit,” Steve whispers, throwing a thumb towards the smaller room. Bucky nods at him, and grabs at his own case to look for a free shirt. By the time he locates one, Steve has disappeared into the bathroom with a small stack of clothes, and a little bag of what Bucky can only assume are toiletries.

While Steve’s busy, Bucky digs through his clothes, trying to figure out if he should actually change or not. He thumbs several shirts before deciding that no, it wasn’t really worth it. Almost all of his shirts are black -- what would exchanging one for another really do? Shoving everything back into its original place, Bucky zips his suitcase back up before laying it against the wall. He doesn’t want to head next door without Steve, so he hops up onto the bed he’s decided is his, and waits.

Steve emerges fifteen minutes later. He’s wearing a different shirt but the same white skinny jeans. Steve’s shirt is black with artfully placed white bleach spots. It’s another one with gaping arm holes, temptingly revealing Steve’s sides whenever he moves. Dragging his eyes up from the pale expanse of Steve’s ribs,  Bucky sees that Steve’s hair is slightly spiked up with some sort of pommade, the blonde ends twisting and twirling up from his scalp. Bucky lets his vision fall down Steve’s face and notices that he’s drawn bright white lines all over himself. One starts at his forehead and dips down his crooked nose, two trail from the end of each eye, ending by his mouth. The lines are like a beacon right to his lips.

Bucky’s staring. He knows he’s staring, but he can’t stop. What would Steve’s lips feel like against his own? What does that red mouth taste like?

“Buck?” Steve says, forceful as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name. “You ready?”

Shaking himself a little as he gets off his bed, Bucky says, “Wha -- yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

***

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

we hear you out there! see you in 10!

 

***

 

The venue starts out pitch black, except for the neon lights behind the drum kit, which are rapidly changing colors, swinging through the entire rainbow. Bucky only knows this because the screaming, excited faces in front of him change color with them, bathed in the light. He’s leaning against the stage behind him, watching the crowd carefully for any signs of assholery. So far, everyone has been very well behaved -- he’s only had to tell two shorter women to get off the barrier, and they listened right away. It’s not quite what he’s used to, from his previous adventures in being security for concerts, but he’ll take it. 

POLAROID RAGE, the opening act, left the stage about ten minutes ago. It’s another five before STAR PLAN are supposed to show up, according to the schedule Peggy gave him before the doors opened. Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and continues to observe the people in front of them. He guesses about ninety percent of them are teenage girls, with their faces painted in a similar fashion to Steve’s. There’s at least two middle-aged couples, looking a little lost in the sea of hormones around them, but equally excited about the oncoming show. A small group of twenty-somethings crowd around each other, trying to see over everyone else. Bucky can see three bigger men off to the side, trying to hug the wall to take up less room. A lot of tie-dye, a lot of rainbows, a lot of wide, ecstatic smiles make up the view in front of him. 

The lights behind him start blinking bright white, sending the screams in the crowd screeching up to an even higher octave. Bucky winces as the the noise hits his ear drums, then reaches up and fiddles with the plugs he’d been given before the show. They’re little orange bean-shaped things designed to protect his hearing, an important accessory considering he’s standing between two huge speakers. A little wiggle on the right one changes the shrieks to a dull roar.

Bucky looks over his shoulder just in time to see the band dart out from backstage to their normal places. Steve slides the last few feet to his spot at center-stage, beaming out at the crowd in front of him. He glances down towards Bucky, and Bucky swears his grin gets even wider. Smiling back, Bucky turns out to face the kids behind the barrier. This is when shit is most likely to go down.

“BOSTON!” Steve shouts into the microphone. “HOW YA DOIN’ TONIGHT?”

Bucky laughs as the volume amps up even louder than it was in response. The girls in front of him are reaching skinny arms up towards the stage, beaming up at Steve. They aren’t anywhere close to touching Steve, let alone the stage itself. Still, Bucky keeps an eye on them, just in case they decide to try climbing the barrier again.

“Oh, tsk, tsk, that was pitiful! Let’s try that again, shall we?” Steve takes a breath, and then repeats himself right on top of the mic. “I said, BOSTON, HOW YA DOIN’ TONIGHT?”

The noise in front of him turns eye-blisteringly loud, making Bucky blink a bunch as if that’s gonna turn the volume in the venue down. 

“That’s good, that’s good,” Thor says from his side of the stage.

“You ready to dance?” Steve asks, at a more tolerable level. “Let’s go!”

The beat kicks up from the drums, and then Nat and Thor join in on their respective instruments, and then finally Steve’s voice echoes out through the space. It sends shivers right up Bucky’s spine, settling at the base of his neck and giving him goosebumps. His voice is pure, a high-pitched perfect note. 

“ _ Eighteen thousand year old soul… _ ” 

It isn’t until the chorus starts that the crowd starts to sing along. They’re all doing the same hand motions, too. Steve must be coaching them out of Bucky’s view. He watches the girls in the front hold out one finger as Steve sings, “ _ One glance _ ,”  and then they turn both their palms down towards the floor and let their hands fall as Steve continues the line with, “ _ and the avalanche drops. _ ”  They repeat the one finger out to “ _ One look _ ,”  and hold their palms out as the song goes on, “ _ and my heartbeat stops _ .”

Bucky watches with a smile pulling at his lips -- this is  _ fun _ , actually, watching everyone enjoy themselves. So far, the crowd is happily dancing and singing and bopping along to the beat. No one’s shoving or screaming or punching at someone else. Relaxing a little bit, Bucky settles into the stage at his back to continue doing his job. He’s not giving up his vigilance, he’s just toning it down a little. 

The first song leads right into the next, something Bucky briefly recalls being called ‘Peggy Girl.’ It starts out real slow and soft, and then builds into a loud dance number that all but shakes the building off its foundation. Everyone in the crowd screams the lyrics back up at the stage, and at one point, Steve must hold the microphone out towards the audience, because he stops singing entirely. Words still fill the space, though, just as loud as they’d been with Steve’s voice backing them up. 

The show thunders on, full speed ahead. They play through four, five different songs without any incident. But when the familiar sounds of ‘Different Colors’ pick up, Bucky can’t help but look over his shoulder. Steve’s standing in the dead center of stage, singing low into the microphone. The crowd grows impossibly louder -- they know exactly what song this is, and they  _ love  _ it. Some girls to the right of Bucky squash a pride flag into a ball and toss it towards the stage; it lands in a bundle at Thor’s feet. As Bucky watches, Steve slides across the stage to scoop it up and drape it across his shoulders like a cape. Bucky has to look away after that.

Bucky spends the rest of the song watching the crowd have the time of their lives. Other pride flags are conjured out of thin air and waved above everyone’s heads. Bucky swears he sees a flag for every sort of sexuality or gender, all displayed proudly. A wave of joy washes through him. The band he works for made this space happen. They made their fans feel comfortable enough that they could be themselves without having to hide. They have each other, all these young kids in front of him. They have a community of people like them to turn to.

Bucky’s proud to work for STAR PLAN, because he sure as hell didn’t have this sort of space growing up. He’d squashed down his sexuality all through high school, in fear that someone would “do something about it.” The football team back then had a habit of making certain people’s lives miserable, and while he had been big enough to take care of himself, he didn’t want to go through that. No one knew he was gay. No one needed to. 

Hell, when he joined the Army Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was still a thing.

So no, he’s never had what these kids have. He’s never had the chance to be out and proud about it. He’s never bought a pride flag and waved it where everyone could see. He’s never had this community. He’s been lonely for as long as he can remember. Bucky’s not even sure he can change that, anymore.

Shaking his head, Bucky pulls himself out of his shitty past. He’s here, right now. If he wanted to, he could buy a flag. Hell, he could get the rainbow tattooed on his ass, if he so chose. He’s his own person. He can be proud about who he is, now. He can join this community. All it would take, he thinks, is asking.

‘Different Colors’ shifts right into ‘Glitter Bomb.’ STAR PLAN plays that song through the last shrill note, and then Steve’s voice rings out through the venue.

“You havin’ a good time tonight, Boston?” 

The crowd screams out in response, their voices echoing off the walls around them. Bucky joins them.

 

***

 

The lights cut out once the band finishes their last song of the set and the band exits the stage. Bucky can see the edges of Steve’s shoes under the curtain. He knows they’re there, waiting to see if the crowd wants them to come back out for an encore. 

Judging from the reaction, it seems like they do.

The girls he’s been standing in front of the whole show are screaming out Steve’s name in a rhythmic way. Everyone else, however, is starting to clap to the same beat. It reverberates through the space around them, filling the air with the noise. Clap, clap,  _ clapclapclap _ , clap, clap,  _ clapclapclap. _

The lights slowly blink back on and crowd cheers, throwing up their flags and hands in triumph. Bucky turns his head in time to see Steve leading the rest of the band back to their positions. The pride flag is draped back over his shoulders, two corners together in the front. Grinning, Steve picks up his microphone again. “You ain’t done with us yet?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. The noise amps up again. 

“I think they want another song, Rogers,” Nat says, into her mic. She’s pulling her bright red guitar straps back onto her shoulders. 

“I think we can do that,” Steve says, with another wide grin. “This one’s an oldie but a goodie, I think you’ll like it…”

Thor’s bass starts the song off with a low thump, thump, thumpthump beat. Nat comes in with a complicated melody, and then Clint comes in with a crash of cymbals and then the ratatat-tat of a snare drum.

Steve joins in, singing a sweet lilting line that Bucky can’t quite hear over the screams of the girls in front of him. Bucky’s attention is divided between the girls in front of him, and the song itself. He lets himself hear the lyrics fully, picking out the words individually while he glances around the audience. No one’s doing anything stupid.

Then he feels the hand on his shoulder. 

He startles, but looks behind him to see Steve  _ right there _ , asking for help getting down onto the barrier. Bucky reaches up with his right hand and lets Steve use him as a stepping stool. He moves, standing right behind the singer as he balances onto the metal barrier. If Steve so much as wobbles, Bucky’s pulling him down. 

STAR PLAN fans reach up with both hands to try and touch him, but Steve doesn’t have enough hands to reach down and touch them. He’s got one hand on his mic and uses the other to cling to Bucky so he doesn’t fall. He watches as Steve looks at one of the bigger guys in the crowd; he seems to have a silent conversation with the man. Once Steve is close enough, the big man reaches out and kinda tugs him up. Everyone else grabs hold, and without even looking back, Steve’s crowd surfing. 

Bucky’s stomach cramps up as he watches the mostly teenage crowd manhandle Steve. It’s not the safest thing in the world, but Steve presumably knows what he’s doing. That doesn’t mean Bucky has to like it, watching Steve at the mercy of the crowd. Any one of them could do something to seriously hurt Steve. Meandering back to his original spot at the front of the stage, Bucky crosses his arms as he keeps a close eye on where exactly Steve is in the crowd. The singer’s moved towards the right a bit, but he starts waving his free hand towards the stage. Slowly, but surely, the crowd sends him in that direction. Bucky moves only when it seems like Steve is close enough to need his help. 

The people mostly-carrying Steve shove him towards the stage, without any regard if he’ll reach or not. Bucky slides on the bottoms of his feet to get to the right spot, and arrives just in time to have Steve fall directly into his arms. Steve laughs, a bright noise that carries through the speakers, but it feels like it’s just for him. He wants to hear that laugh for forever. He wants to feel it right against his skin.

Yanking himself off his stupid crush, Bucky helps Steve back up onto the stage just as the song ends. 

The members of STAR PLAN wave at their fans, waiting for the applause to die down. Steve thanks them all again for their support before leaving the stage for good this time. 

Bucky is supposed to wait for everyone to leave before he can head after the band. He waves the crowd towards the exits, and then once everyone on the floor is mostly out of the way, Bucky climbs the stairs that lead up towards the stage. Disappearing behind the curtains, he navigates his way through the bland hallways to locate the band’s dressing room. The door has a piece of printer paper taped to it that says STAR PLAN in black, block letters. Bucky knocks on it, and waits. 

The door creaks open, revealing Thor’s big face peering out from behind it. “Barnes! Come in,” he says, in his great booming voice. He opens the door wider, and moves out of the way enough for Bucky to slip inside. 

The entire band is piled onto a couch, shoving their faces full of Subway foot-longs. They’re all coated in sweat, faces dripping with it. Nat raises a paper cup in his direction with a singular nod of what Bucky hopes is approval. Steve is seated in the dead center of the couch, between Nat and Clint, looking half-asleep as he chews a bite of sandwich. Bucky’s eyes stay on him for longer than he cares to admit.

“What’d you think?” Nat asks, after taking a sip of her drink. 

“That was… um…” Bucky starts, not sure how to equate his excitement into actual words. “That was  _ awesome _ ,” he ends up saying, feeling like it doesn’t quite add up to how he feels. His eyes are wide as he looks at the people around him. They did that.  _ They  _ played that show, and they’re right here in front of him now. 

Thor’s hair is pulled back all the way from his face now, dripping sweat onto the collar of his shirt. Nat looks scarily put-together, nothing but the dampness of her brow giving any indication that she’d just done anything more exhilarating than eating a sandwich. Clint barely looks alive, his purple tank soaked through with sweat. He’s curled up to the left of Steve, chewing steadily on the same bite of sandwich over and over.

“You liked it, then,” Thor says, with a nod. “Good.”

“Liked it is, um, an understatement,” Bucky manages to get out, feeling himself blush red as soon as the words leave his mouth. He hasn’t felt so at home in a crowd in his entire life. There’s never been a moment where he felt so instantly, so wonderfully a part of something before. What if they judge him? What if they don’t really  _ get it?  _

“We got you an Italian,” Clint says, interrupting Bucky’s downward spiral. He points at the last unclaimed sandwich on the table, still rolled up in the white, green and yellow wax paper of the sub shop. Bucky makes a pleased noise, and reaches for it, tugging towards him on the table before picking at the sticker keeping the paper closed.

“Thanks for this,” Bucky says, looking up at them all. He means the sandwich, he means the show, he means the job.

“Welcome,” Steve says, quietly from between his friends. He smiles at Bucky from around the straw of his drink before taking a loud slurp. 

Bucky smiles back, feeling his chest go fuzzy with it.

They spend the next half-hour eating their food, occasionally breaking the silence with a loud, jaw-popping yawn. Steve manages to nod off between bites, head lolling to rest upon the back of the couch. Natasha snorts at him, but leaves him be. 

“He gets like this after every show. He uses up all his energy at once and leaves nothing for afterwards,” she explains, rolling her eyes. She finishes up her food, and balls the wax paper up to throw at the trash by the door to the room. It lands into the bin with a small  _ thump _ noise.

“He’ll wake up just enough to get on the bus, then he’ll sleep through til morning,” Thor says from his side of the couch. He’s on his second sandwich already. 

“We  _ have _ had to carry him before, though,” Clint chimes in, shoving the last three bites of his sandwich into his mouth. 

Natasha snorts, nodding. “That was when he had pneumonia, though…”

Bucky blinks, and then looks at everyone briefly before saying, “You let him perform when he had pneumonia?” That doesn’t sound like Natasha, or anyone else in the band knowing what little he knows about them, but maybe he’s wrong. It’s happened before.

Thor lets out a deep laugh, shaking his head enough to send his hair flying. “No, Barnes. We didn’t  _ know _ he had pneumonia. We thought it was just his asthma. He barged past us and walked right out on stage before we could stop him. Played the whole show, then basically collapsed after.”

“He ended up the hospital the next day,” Nat adds, flashing a disappointed look at the passed-out Steve next to her. “We had to cancel the next three shows cause of him.”

“Shit,” Bucky says, eyes wide again.

All three band members nod, their vision flicking towards the small singer currently snoring like a lawn mower. Nat reaches over and gently extricates the paper fast-food cup from his grip. She sets on the table in front of them, and then leans back into the cushions.

Steve looks so small between them, curled up and tucked into the couch. His mouth hangs open, revealing the bright pink tongue inside. Bucky watches him for a moment, wondering when exactly it was that he just gave up trying not to have feelings for him. When he stepped on the bus? When they watched Boondock Saints together? Was it when they were walking around the city earlier.

Had he even  _ tried _ not to feel these stupid emotions over his boss?

The door to the dressing room opens again, and Peggy steps in. She looks a little harried, breathing hard as she looks around the room quickly. She takes a deep breath, and nods as she sees everyone is accounted for. “We ready to head out?” she asks quietly. 

“I think so,” Nat says, flicking her gaze up towards Peggy. She smiles softly, and then turns away to gently shake Steve awake. He blinks to consciousness, looking a little confused before realizing where he is. 

“We leavin’?” Steve asks, rubbing at an eye with a curled fist. Everyone makes affirmative noises as they gather their things and pull themselves up to standing. Bucky follows, tossing the trash from his food in the garbage. 

Steve winds his way through everyone to stand next to Buck, looking up at him with puffy, red eyes. He looks flat out exhausted. “You have a good time?” he asks, the last word almost obscured by a wide yawn. Bucky quiets a laugh at the sight.

“Mhm,” he says, with a nod and a smile. “I’ve never felt… a part of something like that before.”

Steve blinks at him, and then a curious expression falls over his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but another yawn takes over before he can get any words out. Once he recovers, he points a finger at Bucky’s chest and says, “We’re gonna talk about that at some point, but not tonight. Too tired.

Bucky laughs, and says, “Okay.”

 

***

 

**🌻** **mariah hates mushrooms** **🌻** _ @mmmariah67 _

holy SHIT!!!!! STAR PLAN was AMAZING last night

 

**Kitty** **🐱** _ @mrowhiss12 _

STAR PLAN didn’t play caregiver last night ;__; but the show was still SO GOOD

 

 **💀🌈 💀** _@sixtysixtwelve_

my cheeks hurt from smiling so much last night. u da best, STAR PLAN

  
  


***


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

“Hey,” Steve says, as he pokes his head into Bucky’s bunk. A wide smile pulls at his lips, showing off all those white, crooked teeth. Bucky can’t help but grin back at him over the edge of his Kindle. Something about Steve’s stupid face always makes him want to smile. It also makes him want to rub up against him like a cat, but that’s one urge he’ll be repressing forever, thank you. Steve points over his shoulder towards the back of the bus and says, “We’re gettin’ ready to watch _Fellowship of the Ring_ back there… if you want to join?”

“Hell yeah!” Bucky says, with an even wider grin. He shuts his Kindle off with a press of a button, and shoves it under his pillow. The cheap sci-fi book he was reading doesn’t hold a candle to rewatching Lord of the Rings for the millionth time. Not to mention that Steve might _maybe_ sit next to Bucky while they watch.

Bucky rolls out of his bunk, grabs the hoodie he’d shoved at his feet and tugs it over his head. He pulls the hood up over his hair, and looks down at Steve before asking, “Who’s watchin’ with us?”

He ticks names off his fingers as he lists them out. “Nat, Clint, Thor, and Parker. Pegs and Angie aren’t fans, sadly.” Steve pauses, and then shrugs. “Plus, Angie’s drivin’, and Pegs likes to keep her company up there…”

“Gotcha,” Bucky says, with a nod. He pads his way down the short hallway back towards the sitting room area of the bus. Nat and Clint are shoved into one corner of a couch, her long legs tossed over Clint’s lap. Parker is on the other end of the same couch, looking a little uncomfortable. “We doing popcorn or anything?” Bucky asks, wedging himself into the corner of a free couch. He likes this spot best -- he can see everyone in the room with him, and has a clear sightline right through to the front of the bus.

“Thor’s on it!” Peter pipes up, pointing back down towards the kitchenette area of the bus. Sure enough, Thor’s down there, poking at the small microwave with a large, thick finger. Bucky can barely hear the hum of the microwave, but the buttery smell of popcorn starts to waft towards them.

“Anyone want drinks?” Steve asks, hovering by Bucky’s couch. “I’ll grab ‘em?”

Drink requests are all shouted at the same time, but Steve somehow manages to get them all correct. He comes back after a minute or two, juggling Coke cans and water bottles carefully in his thin arms. Bucky takes a water from him with a quiet whisper of thanks, and settles back into his spot. Sure enough, Steve hands out the rest of the drinks, and then immediately claims the cushion next to Bucky. It sends something warm and pleasant pooling at the base of his spine. There’s an entire empty couch, and Steve chose to sit next to _him_.

The menu screen of the _Fellowship of the Ring_ quietly tinkles the same thirty-second clip of music over and over as they wait for Thor to come back with popcorn. Steve twists in his spot to look up at Bucky. He pokes him in the side and asks, “Wanna share my blanket again?”

That warm feeling grows inside him, burning up brightly. He nods once, smiles and says, “Sure.”

Steve bounces back up and thunders down the hallway to his bunk. Bucky watches as he reaches up and tugs down the colorful blanket from before. He slides back into his spot next to Bucky, and throws the fleece over both of them. It covers most of Steve, and all of Bucky’s lap.

“You two look comfy over there,” Natasha says, raising one eyebrow as she looks in Bucky’s direction.

“We are!” Steve answers, knocking his shoulder into Bucky’s in a friendly way.

Bucky feels himself go red in the face.

Halfway through the movie, right around when the Fellowship descends into Moria, Steve’s head slowly falls into Bucky’s lap. Bucky goes still, trying not to disturb the smaller man. No matter what, he doesn’t want him to move. He can tell just from how Steve is breathing that he’s fallen asleep. It’s not surprising, considering how much pure energy he’s gone through in the past few days, but it’s still something of a shock. Steve’s head is pillowed on his thigh, his neck bent at an awkward angle. He trusts him, Bucky thinks. Steve trusts him enough to sleep on him again.

Bucky looks up in time to see Natasha raise both of her eyebrows at him. She mouths across the bus, “You okay?”

Bucky nods.

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

who’s your favorite character from LOTR, and why is it aragorn?

 

***

 

They hit up Hartford, Montreal, Toronto, and Buffalo. Detroit a few days later, and then Minneapolis. The shows go well enough, with Bucky only having to kick out a few people over the course of six concerts. He got to punch some asshole in Buffalo, which was exciting. The damn kid was sticking his hands up girls’ shirts, and didn’t appreciate being called out on it. Bucky’s pretty sure he broke the guy’s nose, but he doesn’t feel bad about it. As for everyone else that night -- they were on their best behavior the rest of the show.

Steve attempts to crowd surf at every show, but only Toronto and Detroit seemed really into it. He returns back to the stage after one back and forth go in Buffalo, and in Montreal, Steve doesn’t even get onto the crowd at all. It still makes Bucky’s stomach clench with fear every time he starts, but it’s beginning to be something Bucky can watch out for.

So far, Steve hasn’t attempted to fist fight anyone in the crowd. Bucky’s flat out astonished by this, but then again, _he’s_ had to throw people out. Maybe him being there really is helping Steve not get the shit kicked out of him. Or maybe it’s just dumb luck, who knows?

The bus is somewhere on the road towards Chicago when Steve pulls Bucky aside.

“Hey,” Steve says, touching him on the arm gently to get his attention. Bucky’s just left the small bathroom, drying his palms on the thighs of his jeans. He always feels like he’s going to accidentally hit the door and that it’s going to pop open when he’s in the middle of using the toilet. So far, it hasn’t happened, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t going to.

“Mm?” Bucky says, turning to look at him. Steve looks tired, more tired than he usually does after a show. Is he getting sick? Bucky searches the smaller man’s face for any sign of illness, but can’t find anything glaringly obvious. He just looks a little pale, and his eyes are a little red.

“I got you something!” Steve says, lighting up a bit around the edges.

“You did?” Bucky asks, confused. What could Steve have possibly gotten him? He’s been with him almost constantly since getting on the bus back in Albany.

“Mhm!” Steve says, a grin growing on his face. He nods his head back towards the beds. “C’mon, it’s in my bunk.”

Bucky follows him, and stands awkwardly to the side as Steve digs through the bag on his bed.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Steve says, keeping his hands hidden from Bucky’s view.

With a frown, Bucky closes them, feeling his anxiety ramp up to eleven. He doesn’t like it when he can’t see where he is, or what’s around him. Doesn’t matter if he knows exactly where he is, doesn’t matter that he trusts the people he’s with. It’s a stupid remnant of being at war, of coming home not whole.

Steve takes both of Bucky’s hands and pulls them up so he’s holding his palms towards the ceiling. There’s a rustling noise, and then Steves drapes a few things over his hands. They’re soft, and the combination of them isn’t exactly light.

“You can look now,” Steve announces.

Bucky opens his eyes, and immediately looks down to what’s in his hands. He shifts everything to his left hand, and uses his right to peel the items apart so he can tell what they are. The first thing he untangles is an enormous black shirt that says STAR PLAN on the front in white block letters. The band’s logo is underneath -- a white star surrounded by a circle, but the points of the star poke outside the confines of the circle, stretching out to tiny pinpricks. On the left side of the logo, it says PATRIOT and to the right, it says TOUR. Bucky twists the shirt around to see the back, and grins wide when he discovers that it says TOUR STAFF in big letters across the shoulders, with the dates of the tour printed out in smaller letters underneath. Bucky throws the shirt over his right shoulder to look at the other items.

The second item is a tie-dye hoodie. It’s approximately the size of a circus tent, which means it will fit both Bucky’s metal arm, and his wide shoulders without stretching out to unwearable levels. He twists it in his grip, flicking the hood back so he can see the front more. The band’s name is printed on the chest, black block letters this time, but underneath their name is a rainbow flag. A jolt of surprise sends his stomach flipping. Does Steve _know_? How does he know? What gave him away?

“That one you, uh, don’t have to keep, if you don’t like it…” Steve says, gesturing towards the hoodie. “I know it’s, uh,  a lot, and if you don’t…” He makes an aborted motion with his hands, and then quickly shoves them both into his back pockets, like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he doesn’t confine them. Bucky blinks at him, a little confused.

“I like it,” he says, throwing it over his shoulder to stay with the shirt. Why wouldn’t he like it? It’s big enough for him, and the inside of it looks soft and warm. He’d wear it even if it was puke green and covered in fur, just because Steve gave it to him.

Steve smiles, a quick barely-noticeable thing, and then jolts back into his bunk. “I have one more thing, but you, uh, just like the sweatshirt, you don’t have to wear it? Or keep it? It’s leftover from last year’s pride show…” He digs around in the plastic bag from before, and then holds out a bracelet.

Bucky takes it, and twists it around in his hands so he can get a better look at it.  It’s rainbow colored, made out of soft rubber, and has the words STAR PLAN JUNE 2018 pressed into the side. He slips it on over his right hand carefully. It sits there, barely loose around his wrist. Looking down at Steve, Bucky smiles. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve beams up at him, and after a moment of what looks like interior deliberation, throws his arms around Bucky’s neck in a weird almost-hug. Bucky lets out a soft ‘oof’ as they collide, and adjusts both of them into a proper hug. His long arms fit neatly around Steve, the palm of his hand taking up most of the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. The singer is tiny, and stick-thin in his arms, which only reminds Bucky of how fragile and easily breakable Steve is. He hugs him tighter for a moment, and then pulls away.

“I’m glad you like it all,” Steve says, with a small smile.

“Course I do,” Bucky responds, grinning.

“Good,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose a bit. His glasses bob up and down with the movement. He stands still for a moment, and then sighs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “I gotta go talk to Pegs for a bit, so I’ll catch up with you later?”

Bucky nods. Steve gives him a lazy salute as he walks towards the front of the bus where Peggy is poring over papers at the kitchenette table. It’s only as he walks away that Bucky sees Steve has a matching bracelet on his left wrist.

 

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

share a secret with us! best secret gets a free download of PATRIOT.

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@STARPLANband i once ate food out of the garbage bc SOMEONE threw it away without asking if i was done or not

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@STARPLANband i broke my wrist defending Nat from some asshole once

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@sgrogers89 you mean NAT broke your wrist for defending her

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza i can neither confirm nor deny these allegations

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza @sgrogers89 both of you are disqualified

 

***

 

“I have an idea,” Bucky says, turning his head just slightly towards Steve. They’re walking through the edges of the theater district, looking up at the tall buildings surrounding them. A lot of them are elaborately detailed, carvings gilding the buildings at the edges. There’s the usual glass boxes, speckled in-between, the occasional odd-shaped building stretching up towards the sky, but for the most part, Chicago is beautiful.

“An idea?” Steve repeats, grinning up at him. They’d bounced as soon as they got to the hotel, barely hearing Peggy telling everyone to _behave themselves_. Chicago was going to be their home for a week straight, with the last night being the night of the show. Then after that, they had to hurry towards Nashville, hopefully to put on another great performance.

“Yeah. We’re here for a week, right?” Bucky says, feeling stupidly happy about the future for the first time in what feels like forever. Steve hasn’t left his side since Bucky stepped on the bus that first day, and well, Bucky’s starting to feel like maybe they’re turning into good, proper friends. There’s a hint of something else, of course. That tiny little fire that burns deep in Bucky’s gut turns into a great raging inferno whenever he sees Steve smile at him.

He’s got a crush.

He _knows_ he’s got a crush.

But maybe it’s more than that? It’s hard for him to quantify it with words. Bucky wants to hold Steve close, to protect him, and also to kiss him within an inch of his life. He wants to keep him safe, but shove him against a wall and get his mouth on his dick. It’s a complicated mess of emotions inside his head, and Bucky’s trying so very hard to keep them hidden. Just in case.

Just in case Steve doesn’t feel the same way about him.

“Yeah, a solid week,” Steve answers, with a nod. He steers them around a corner. They’re supposed to be heading towards the Bean, but Bucky has no idea where they are, in the grand scheme of things. He’s just following Steve’s lead, here.

“So...what if we plan at least one thing to do each day? Like we go to a museum, or a long walk, or I think there’s an aquarium around here, too, right?” Bucky says, stretching his neck back to look up at the theater sign above them. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree, with sparkling lights in gold and red. The marquee says it’s currently showing HAMILTON. He blinks at it, and then looks back down at Steve. They probably couldn’t get tickets, right? Too short notice, not to mention the possible prices… He’ll look into that later when they get back to their hotel.

Steve pulls them off to the side, so other people can pass by them while they talk. He rubs at his face for a moment before nodding. “That’s a pretty solid plan. You ever been here before?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he speaks. At this point, Steve should just assume Bucky hasn’t been anywhere before. It’s true most of the time. The only travelling he’s done is to war zones.

“Once, I think, when I was real little? I don’t actually remember anything other than the aquarium, but I’m not even sure it’s around here…” Bucky admits, with a shrug. He can’t even remember why they’d come here, if it actually was Chicago, come to think of it… Hadn’t that been the ocean that they’d seen, back then? “Might actually be thinking about Atlanta, though, so…” Bucky makes a face.  

Steve laughs, bright and happy, as he turns and points back towards the water. Bucky can see the top corner of a building sitting low and squat against the shore. “There is an aquarium, though! It’s over there, actually. Bout a twenty minute walk, I think.” He bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s arm, and smiling again. “Wait ‘til we hit Atlanta, then you can see if it feels familiar or not?”

“When’s that again?”

“Two weeks-ish?” Steve answers, wiggling his hand in the air. “You wanna do the aquarium today?”

Bucky grins at him, and shakes his head. “Nah, I got a better idea.” He’d planned this all out yesterday on the bus. He’d checked out opening and closing times, the location, the ticket prices, current exhibitions, the whole shebang. Everything they’d need to know to get into the one place he _knows_ Steve is going to love.

Steve looks at him, curious, bright blue eyes shining in the sunlight.

“You wanna go to the art museum?” Bucky asks, trying not to look hopeful.

Steve’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping just slightly. “You’d go with me?” he asks, looking almost unsure. Who could tell a face like that no? Who could crush his dreams when he looks like that?

Bucky nods, feeling warm and proud as he says, “Already bought the tickets.”

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i’ve decided i’m living in @artinstitutechi please deliver all mail here from now on

 

***

 

They end up going to the aquarium the day after, ogling at all the brightly-colored fish behind thick, clear glass. The dolphin show ends up being a little cheesy, but they both applaud out of excitement by the time it finishes. Steve buys him a small stuffed shark in the gift shop, and shoves it down the back of Bucky’s shirt when he won’t accept it. When they get back to the hotel, Bucky sets the shark very carefully on his bed, right in front of his pillow.

One night, they join the rest of the band for dinner at some fancy Mexican restaurant that serves them too much tequila, and not enough chips and salsa. The day after that is spent at the planetarium, gazing up at the artificial stars. On their way back to the hotel, Steve drags Bucky into a store called Hyatt’s, mumbling something about wanting new paints. Somehow, he buys _more_ art supplies. Bucky spends an hour following him around like a puppy, holding the plastic basket on his left arm for Steve to pile paper, pencils, and ink in. At the last minute, he tosses in a sheet of space stickers for himself. The total comes to some exorbitant amount that Bucky can’t quite wrap his mind around.

Bucky ends up not being able to get tickets to Hamilton, but it doesn’t matter. They have a great time exploring the city without seeing a show.

They go shopping, they go make faces into the Bean’s mirrored surface, and they go walk along the water, pulling their jackets tight around themselves to brace against the wind.

They do everything together.

Chicago treats them well. Until it doesn’t.

  



	8. Chapter 8

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

chicago we’re HERE! you ready for us tonight?

 

 **stevie rogers** **🏳️‍🌈 🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

@STARPLANband can i have another day of just eating pizza?

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@STARPLANband @sgrogers89 yeah i mean, i’m not READY, ready?

 

***

 

The thing is, the Chicago show starts out just like the other seven. Screaming, shrieking girls line up against the barrier, stretching their arms up towards the stage like that’s going to bring the band out any faster. Bucky likes the shows this way best -- he gets to make sure the girls and their friends can enjoy the performance without anyone ruining it for them. They get to see clearly, and he gets to protect them. He stands tall enough to see over most of them, and can make sure that no one tries anything stupid.

STAR PLAN is halfway through _Different Colors_ when something in the crowd shifts. Suddenly there are a lot more anxious and worried faces out in the crowd, wide eyes darting around from face to face. The air feels different, thick with tension and the possibility of violence. Bucky pulls himself up straighter, and tries to figure out what changed.

A short, dark-haired man pushes and shoves through the crowd, throwing a young girl at the barricade out of the way without so much as an apology. Bucky glares at him, but the man doesn’t notice, he’s so drunk. Bucky takes a step forward, and opens his mouth to say something, to make him back the fuck off, to bring the girl back towards the front, but the asshole gets there first.

“SCRAWNY FUCKIN’ FAGGOT!” gets slurred up towards the stage before Bucky gets a chance to do anything at all. The dark-haired man sways on his feet, reaching up to flip off Steve and the rest of the band.

“What’d you just call me?” Steve asks, bringing the music to a standstill. Bucky half-turns to see Steve standing right behind him, up on the stage. He winces -- Steve is livid, his face gone pale with rage. The crowd hisses once they realize what’s going on. All eyes are on Steve and this douchebag.

“I CALLED YOU A FUCKIN’ FAGGOT, Y’DEAF TOO?”

This guy has a death wish. He’s surrounded by queer people, by people with disabilities. Bucky glances around, tries to figure out why he’s even here at all, until he spots a thoroughly embarrassed-looking brunette behind him. Bucky blinks at her, barely suppressing the urge to say something he’ll regret. This asshole is someone’s _date_.

The crowd both moves towards and away from this drunk jackass -- the younger fans get pushed behind older ones, and the men, the women who look like they could bench press _him_ , they move closer. No one looks happy. Bucky closes the distance between him and the barricade, and clamps his metal hand around the asshole’s wrist. He isn’t gentle.

“C’mon, asshole, you’re done,” Bucky says, just as something tie-dyed streaks past his vision.

Steve’s leapt off the stage, and is currently climbing over the barricade with murder in his eyes. Bucky lets go of the jackass long enough to grab Steve by the back of his belt and haul him off. It’s easy enough to do -- Steve hardly weighs anything. He flails his arms, trying to fling a fist towards Drunk Guy as a last resort. Bucky lifts him higher, and tries to shove him back up towards the stage. A quick glance proves Thor is waiting to help Steve back up.

“Steve, leave it, I got him,” Bucky says, hoping it’ll calm him down. It doesn’t. If anything, it just further enrages him. Of course, that’s when this jackass decides to speak up again.

_“FUCKIN’ FAIRY HAS TO GET SOMEONE ELSE TO FIGHT FOR HIM!”_

“LET ME GO!” Steve shouts immediately, pushing and yanking at Bucky’s hand. Combat boots thunk into Bucky’s ribs, probably leaving bruises. Bucky ignores his flailing, and tries to lift him up back over the barrier. Steve continues to scream, “PUT ME DOWN, YOU _ASS._ HE CAN’T SAY THAT SHIT. HE CAN’T SAY THAT SHIT AT MY SHOW. I’LL KICK HIS FUCKIN’ TEETH IN!”

“Barnes, here,” Thor says, holding one giant hand down towards the pit. Bucky lifts the still-spitting mad Steve up into Thor’s hand, and turns back towards the crowd. Thor will take care of him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Bucky needs to fix the problem at hand.

Drunk Guy, like the idiot he clearly is, has stayed put. He’s leaning over the barricade now, shouting slurs and hate towards the stage, his face turning purple. Bucky moves towards him again, careful to pull himself up to his full height, to straighten his shoulders. He’s not a tall guy, but he’s towering over this asshole. Grabbing the man again, he clamps his hand back over the guy’s wrist. “You’re coming with me, and you’re gonna shut up.”

“Why should I? What’re y’gonna do, _fight me_?”

Bucky would like to fight him. He’d like to punch his fist through the back of his skull, but he can’t, because that’d be _murder_ . Swallowing what he wants, Bucky spits, “You’re gonna come with me, because if you don’t, I’ll _make_ you and I’m a helluva lot bigger than you.”

Douchebag blanches as he takes in exactly how _much_ bigger Bucky is and the shirt that clearly says SECURITY right across his chest. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight as they head towards the exit. Bucky asks for his ID, to check his name -- Troy Young -- and shoves him out the door. He’ll tell the venue what his name is in case they don’t want him around anymore. Bucky wouldn’t blame them.

By the time Bucky’s back in his spot in front of the stage, the band has returned to their set list. Despite the music, despite the crowd screaming the lyrics back to them, the air doesn’t feel quite right the rest of the show.

 

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

We’d like to apologize for the disruption caused by an unruly concertgoer at tonight’s show.

We hope it didn’t affect your enjoyment of the show.

 

***

 

As soon as all the fans exit the venue, Bucky takes off towards the green room. Boots squeaking against the linoleum as he runs, Bucky _dreads_ seeing Steve again. He looked furious with Bucky when he’d handed him off to Thor, and deep down inside, Bucky knows that he’s ruined it. Whatever they were, whatever friendship they had, he’s gone and destroyed it, just by doing his job.

Bucky locates the green room just in time to hear a heated exchange come from behind the door. He lays his right hand flat on the door for a moment, before pulling away to lean against the wall. There’s no way he’s interrupting this conversation.

“He was doing his _job_ , Steven.” He thinks, but isn’t quite sure, that the voice belongs to Natasha.

“I don’t want to hear this from you. You know that guy deserved to get…” That’s definitely Steve, even though he sounds like he swallowed a bag of gravel. Has he been shouting, or is that just from the show? “I shoulda…”

“ _No_!” That’s… maybe everyone, actually. Definitely multiple voices, including at least one male one. Thor, probably. There’s rustling, like someone wadding up paper, and then Steve’s voice again.

“I don’t want to see any of you right now. Get the fuck out of my way.”

“You need to calm down,” Peggy this time, but she’s easy to identify with her accent. She sounds royally pissed.

“I don’t _need_ to do anything. _Move._ ”

Bucky realizes rather quickly that Steve’s headed out into the hallway. Where Bucky is currently sort-of-not-on-purpose eavesdropping. He raises a fist and knocks, hopping out of the way just in case someone’s real close to the door. At least now they know he’s here, or that someone’s out here waiting.

The door opens immediately, and Steve appears, looking ready to bite someone’s head clear off their body. His face is pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Sweat has slicked his hair down to his forehead. Bucky gets to look at him for a split second before Steve tears off down the hallway, stomping towards the illuminated EXIT sign at the other end.

It doesn’t occur to Bucky to call out until after he’s pulled into the green room.

“Leave him, Barnes,” Peggy says, carefully steering him into a chair.

“He’s gotta cool down on his own,” Nat says, picking up a cardboard take out box and tipping it towards the paper plate in front of her. Noodles pour out. Lo Mein, Bucky thinks. “He’ll go to the bus. He always does.”

“He’s done this before?” Bucky asks, in a barely-there voice.

“Whenever we pull someone off him, yeah.” Clint speaks up, voice surprisingly at a normal volume. A quick glance proves he’s got his hearing aids in. Bucky watches as he leans back against his plastic chair and pulls his feet up onto the table Nat’s using. She reaches out and shoves his sneakers off.

“He’ll hide in his bunk ‘til tomorrow,” Nat adds, rolling her eyes as she spears a tiny ear of corn on the end of her plastic fork. “He’ll be pissy for a day or two and then get over it.”

Bucky curls himself up in his chair, tring to make himself smaller. He fucked this up. Somehow. It’s his fault that Steve’s angry. He _hates_ when people are angry. It’s always his fault. Always. Bucky closes his eyes, and tries to center himself, like his therapist used to tell him. She used to say that he needed to distract himself when he got like this, to think of anything other than what he was fixating on. Why hadn’t he just let Steve punch Troy?

 _Because_ , a small voice at the back of his head says, _it’s_ literally _your job to keep Steve safe._

His thoughts spiral further, mostly about how he could have avoided all of it if he’d just said something before Troy got a chance to spew hate towards the stage. All Bucky had to do was speak up, tell the asshole to leave for pushing that girl out of the way. Wincing, Bucky realizes that he never checked on her after everything that happened. Hopefully, she was alright, hopefully no one got hurt at all.

“Hey, Barnes?”

Bucky looks up, and blinks his vision back into focus. Nat is wiggling a takeout container at him, concerned.

“You hungry?”

He shakes his head, hair swinging into his eyes with the movement. A quick tug pulls out the rest from the small ponytail at the base of his neck. Bucky couldn’t eat right now even if he was hungry. His stomach is too busy tying itself up into knots to register anything like hunger. Natasha frowns at him for a moment, but goes back to her own food. Bucky returns to mentally beating himself up.

Eventually, they all head out, back to their hotel. Steve doesn’t ever get off the bus.

 

***

 

The next day is the worst day Bucky’s had in awhile. It used to be a pretty common occurrence for everything between the sun coming up and the sun going down to suck. It was just how things went for him, especially after coming back sans arm. But the past two weeks had changed that, and Bucky thought being miserable was over with. He had friends. He had a job. He was _worth_ something again. But no, no life had to throw him a goddamn curveball.

Steve emerges from his bunk around noon, looking murderous and slightly sleep-rumpled. He immediately turns a cold shoulder towards Bucky, who perks up at the sight of him. He’d hoped that all would be forgiven with the reset button of sleep, but apparently not. Steve heads towards the back of the bus with a mug of coffee, and settles down on a couch with Natasha. They chat, too quietly for Bucky to hear. Judging from Natasha’s expression, she’s still not pleased with her foster-brother.

Bucky goes back to his Kindle. If Steve doesn’t want to talk to him, fine. He can entertain himself in other ways.

He finishes the book, and starts another by the time they stop for lunch.

 

***

 

“He’ll forgive you, you know.”

Bucky looks up from his paper-wrapped sub sandwich -- Peggy’s standing over him, holding her drink in one hand. She sips at it noisily while he watches.

“Wha -- ?” Bucky says, blinking. What had he been thinking about, before she interrupted him? Was it even important, or was it just more spiraling? He’s willing to bet it was just more spiraling. That’s really all he’s been doing since last night. Sure, he demonstrably read that book, but if he had to give a lecture on it, all he’d do is stand up and stare. Bucky can’t even remember the main character’s name.

“Steve. He’ll forgive you, he just likes to hold a grudge…”

Bucky nods slowly. He’s not sure if he believes her or not -- why would Steve give him a second chance after he royally screwed the first one up? _Then again_ , a very small voice says, _you didn’t screw up. You were doing your job._ Steve has no right to be angry over that.

“Can I sit?” Peggy asks, pointing one red-lacquered nail at the chair next to him. They’re back on their way towards Nashville after stopping at a Subway off the interstate. Everyone else, except Angie, is at the rear of the bus watching a comedy movie, judging from the intermittent laughter. Thor had invited Bucky back, too, but he hadn’t wanted to bother everyone else.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Bucky answers, with a slightly raised shoulder. He slowly unwraps his sandwich, and takes the smaller half in hand. Taking a bite, Bucky watches as Peggy lowers herself into her seat. While he’s chewing, Peggy seems to be gathering her thoughts. Is he about to be fired? Is that what’s happening here? After swallowing, Bucky takes a deep breath.

Peggy takes another sip of her drink before speaking. “You did wonderfully last night, Bucky,” she says, setting her cup down on the table. She gently lays one hand on his left arm. “I know Steve’s reaction is...distressing, but that’s just who he is.” Peggy pauses, and looks to be considering her next words carefully. Bucky watches her, raising one eyebrow. He knows Steve is a little ball of fire and rage, but knowing and experiencing are two entirely different things. Steve had yelled at him. He’d called him an _ass_. It’s not the worst thing he’s ever been called in his life, but he’d thought that Steve was his friend. He’d thought maybe, maybe there was something there. A hint of potential, maybe.

Peggy chews on her cheek for a moment, before squeezing his arm. “Please promise me you aren’t...reconsidering your employment with us?”

Bucky blinks at her, and then slowly, so very slowly, a smile grows on his lips. He’s _not_ getting fired. Thank God. He’s not sure what he would have done if he had to go back to that shitty apartment he lived in. It wouldn’t have taken long for him to go flat-out insane with loneliness. A tiny part of Bucky is pretty sure he’d been most of the way there before he’d accepted this job. A half-laugh escapes him before he can cover it up. “I...no, no, I’m not. I’m just… I thought you came here to tell me to get lost…”

A bubble of laughter bursts out of Peggy’s mouth before she covers it with her hand. She shakes her head, brown curls swinging. After the giggles dissipate a few seconds later, Peggy says,  “No, no, definitely not. We need you, Bucky.”

“Need me?” Bucky repeats, laughing. They don’t _need_ him. Someone else could have stopped the fight. It’s not like he’s the only security person in the world.

“Well yes, without you Steve probably would have broken that man’s nose,” Peggy answers, like it’s obvious. She reaches for her cup, and takes a small sip before adding, “Or he would have ended up hospitalized. Either way, you saved us from a more stressful night. Even if Steve is being an ass now.”

That still doesn’t mean they need _him_ specifically, but it’s still nice little boost to his self-confidence. Bucky smiles at Peggy, feeling a little bit better about himself. The conversation dissolves slowly into a comfortable silence, the two of them finishing up their lunches in relative quiet.

She’s nice, Bucky thinks later. Peggy’s nice.

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers** **🏳️‍🌈 🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

NASHVILLE! Hot chicken?! Where?!

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@sgrogers89 imma eat @theTHUNDERER’s weight in hot chicken

 

 **THOR** ⚡ _@theTHUNDERER_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza @sgrogers89  you’re gonna eat 211 lbs of hot chicken?

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@sgrogers89 im damn well gonna try!

 

***


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Bucky’s in the middle of talking to the venue’s head of security, figuring out where he’s going to go during the show. There isn’t really a spot between the stage and the crowd here, something that Bucky isn’t a fan of. But, whatever, he’d figure out some way to make sure Steve didn’t take a dive into the crowd to pick a fight with someone asshole a million times bigger than him, even if Steve still wasn’t talking to him, because it was Bucky’s _job_ to keep him safe _._

An unfamiliar kid wearing a backwards baseball cap pops around the corner. He’s breathing heavily as he slides to a stop on the squeaky floor. “Hey, hey, are you with STAR PLAN?” he says, pointing at Bucky. A quick glance over this guy proves he works for the venue -- there’s a lanyard around his neck with an official looking badge at the end. It says KEVIN in big bold letters.

“Uh, yeah?” Bucky answers, raising an eyebrow. There’s only a very visible STAR PLAN shirt stretched over his shoulders that has SECURITY printed across the back. He blinks at Kevin, waiting for him to offer an explanation for interruption. Does this kid have no manners?

“Steve’s uh...Steve’s not breathin’ right,” Kevin says, flapping a hand over his shoulder.

Bucky’s stomach drops down into his shoes. He suddenly feels cold.

“Where is he?” Bucky says, stomping towards Kevin, head of security forgotten behind him.

“This way, c’mon.”  

They run through backstage hallways, and skid towards the band’s dressing room for the night. Kevin knocks once, but Bucky’s already opening the door before his knuckles can connect again. Inside, Steve is curled up on the couch, face white as snow. His breathing sounds harsh and ragged, like each breath is caught in his throat. Bucky closes the distance between them in three huge steps, sitting down next to Steve to uncurl him gently.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, what do you need?” Bucky says, lowering his face towards his. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees the bright red and white of Steve’s emergency inhaler on the table in front of the couch. He must have tried that, and it didn’t work. Bucky’s stomach drops further.

“Nebulizer,” Steve says, voice rough. His eyes are wide, each blink longer than necessary.

“Where’s that?” Bucky asks, muscles coiled to pop up and run to wherever Steve indicates. Steve points towards his backpack, leaning against the far wall. Bucky’s already half of the way there when a sharp cough breaks the silence. Steve coughs again as Bucky turns to check on him, a jagged thing that rips its way out of his throat. He sucks in a breath, but another cough escapes before he gets any oxygen.

Bucky winces, hooks a finger into a backpack strap before yanking it back towards the couch. Please, please let this nebulizer thing work.

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying,” Bucky says, mostly to himself. He unzips the bag quickly but rough enough that the fabric strains under the grip of his metal hand. He digs through the insides of the bag, not sure at all what a nebulizer is, or what it looks like.

“Buck,” Steve says, voice barely audible. “Give it here, I’ll find it, and tell y -- ” Another cough fit, that ends with Steve far, far too pale for Bucky’s liking. He opens the bag and tilts it towards Steve, whose shaking hands dart in to grab a black zip-up case. He shoves it at Bucky’s chest, and lets the backpack fall towards the floor. Bucky immediately unzips the case and is faced with an unfamiliar piece of machinery. It’s a navy blue rectangle, with a stripe of bright yellow at the top. There’s two ports at either end, one smaller than the other.

“The tubing -- ” Steve says, reaching for the case and tugging out a long rope of clear plastic tubing. He shoves one end into the bigger port, and connects the other to a strange-shaped mouthpiece. Bucky watches, mouth slightly agape, as Steve’s shaking hands quickly put together the nebulizer. Once it looks whole, he dives back into the zipped-up bag and comes back up with a small plastic tube full of liquid. The medicine, probably. “C-can you open this?” Steve asks, quiet. He holds it out towards Bucky, who twists the top off, and hands it back, hoping to God that this will help. Steve dumps the liquid into the little container under the mouthpiece, and sits back into the couch, pushing the power button on the machine.

The nebulizer rumbles to life, quickly turning the liquid medicine into vapor for Steve to breathe in. It’s loud, and a little scary-looking with the tubing and the white smoke coming from the other end of the mouthpiece, but Bucky sees the instant Steve relaxes into the cushions behind him.  

“Do...do you need anything else?” Bucky asks, eyes wide.

Steve shakes his head, but shifts just the tiniest bit closer as he breathes in the medicine. Bucky carefully moves, and wraps an arm around Steve’s small shoulders. He’s not leaving. Not even if Steve tells him he’s fine, that he can go. He’s staying right here.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something stupid and reassuring when the door to the dressing room bangs open again. Natasha, quickly followed by Thor, and Clint, bursts into the room. She looks livid.

“You’re having an attack, aren’t you?” she asks, stupidly, if you were to ask Bucky’s opinion. It’s clear what’s happening to Steve -- he’s pale, shaking, and still coughing even with his teeth around the mouthpiece of the nebulizer. Steve, though, nods. “Goddamn that stupid fu-- ” Natasha cuts herself off, and spins away with rage. She stomps out the door, disappearing around the corner.

Bucky raises his eyebrows at Thor, hoping for a slightly more elaborate explanation.

“Our opening act decided to add a fog machine to their set,” he says, simply. A glance towards his eyes proves Thor is just as angry as Natasha, but a little better at hiding it. “They were testing it out when Steve walked on stage.”

“Fuck,” Bucky says, remembering what Natasha had told him that first day on the bus. Steve’s asthma was easily set off by smoke, strong scents, and the chemicals in fog machines. He looks down at Steve for a split second before glancing back up towards Thor. “I thought… I thought you’d have written it into their contract that they couldn’t have one…”

Thor’s face darkens as he nods.

“It _is_ written into their contract,” Clint says, chewing on his cheek. “I think Natasha’s just gone to scream at them.” He goes quiet for a moment, and then looks at Steve carefully. He signs something slowly, and then cocks his head at the singer under Bucky’s arm. Steve signs something back, and manages a weak smile in Clint’s direction. “We’re gonna go talk to the venue,” Clint says, hooking a hand around Thor’s bicep, and pulling. They leave the room too, and leave Bucky alone with Steve.

After they leave, Bucky gestures towards the machine and tubing. “How long does this usually take?”

Steve holds up both hands, fingers spread wide. His hands are shaking.

“Ten minutes?”

Steve nods, and lets his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

The ten minutes pass slowly, with Bucky keeping Steve tight against him. The shivering gets stronger the more medicine Steve inhales. He’s not sure if it’s making him cold, or if it just gives Steve the shakes, but Bucky will keep him close regardless. Running his fingers over Steve’s bare shoulder, he gently gives him a reminder that he’s here, that he’s not leaving.

Once the white vapor gets harder and harder to see, Steve switches off the nebulizer, and spits the mouthpiece out. He slumps like his strings have been cut into Bucky’s chest. Bucky curls his arm around him tighter, keeping him close against him.

“I’m s-sorry,” Steve says, voice broken, and barely audible. His eyes are wide, and electric blue in the dim light of the dressing room. He takes a shaky breath before continuing, “I d-didn’t… ”

“You don’t have to talk, Stevie,” Bucky says, gently. They can just sit in the quiet, it’s fine. They have all the time in the world to talk later, when Steve can actually speak without coughing.

“No, no,” Steve says, leaning back to stare at Bucky’s face. Bucky’s arm falls off his shoulders as he moves. It looks like Steve’s having a hard time focusing his vision. He wobbles a bit until Bucky reaches out and steadies him with an hand on his arm. Steve continues, a little more sure, “No, I owe you an apology.”

Bucky blinks at him.

“For...for how I treated you after last night,” Steve says, slowly. He takes a shaky breath in before continuing, “I s-shouldn’t have done any of it. Jumping off the stage, callin’ you...callin’ you what I did, ignorin’ you after… Nat had a talk with me on the bus. She… she told me, okay? Told me what you were hired for, and I… I treated you like _that_ when you were just doing your _job._ I’m an idiot and _I’m sorry_ , please, please forgive me?”

Bucky blinks at him again. Slowly, so very slowly, a smile breaks over his face. Steve’s _sorry._ It’s okay now. “It’s alright, Steve. I knew who you were when I got on the bus. I shouldn’t have expected you to react any differently than how you did.” He pauses, and then tilts his head at Steve. He looks so small, and so very _not well_. Bucky smiles again softly, and adds, “Now would you come back here?” He opens his arms again, hoping against hope that Steve will go right back to where he was. Bucky liked him there, safe and warm next to him.

Steve’s eyes are searching Bucky’s face, darting over every inch. “Will...will you rub my back for me?” he asks, in a small voice. “Always makes my ribs hurt…”

“Sure,” Bucky says. He’d do anything for Steve right now. Anything in the world. “How… ?”

Steve shifts, and carefully lowers his front half over Bucky’s lap. His right cheek is pillowed on Bucky’s thigh, his face out towards the room. Reaching back, Steve grabs at Bucky’s hand, and pulls it to his mid-back. Bucky takes the hint, and starts to rub small circles into his ribs, careful not to push too hard. After a minute or two, Steve lets out a sigh and relaxes fully against Bucky’s legs.

Things will be okay, Bucky realizes slowly. They’ll be okay.

 

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

Due to a sudden illness, tonight’s show has been cancelled.

We’re sorry, Nashville. We’ll be back soon.

 

***

 

By the time they get back to the bus, the news about the show being cancelled has been posted on Twitter. There’s a few hopeful fans milling around the bus. Peggy firmly but politely informs them that the band can’t take pictures tonight. A general groan of disappointment emanates from the group. Once the small crowd dissipates, Bucky practically carries Steve onto the bus, taking most of his shaky weight on the steps.

“You wanna go to bed or the couches?” Bucky asks, pausing by Steve’s bunk. He’s got an arm around Steve’s waist, and his backpack on his metal shoulder.

“Couches,” Steve answers, taking a step away from Bucky. Bucky hurries to follow, hovering right behind the smaller man, just in case he wobbles a bit too hard. He doesn’t have any idea what effects that medicine usually has on Steve. Natasha might know, though. Later, when they’re all back on the bus, and Steve is settled, Bucky will ask her.

Steve makes it back to the couches without any incident. He flops on the nearest one, and curls himself up tight into the corner. Bucky hangs back, unsure if he’s supposed to keep following or not. If Steve wants to be alone now, he’s not going to intrude. He’ll just...keep an ear out, instead.

“Will… ”  Steve starts, looking up. He’s searching in the dim light, probably for… “Bucky?”

Bucky moves closer, into the light of the living area. He perches just slightly on the arm of Steve’s couch, setting the backpack at Steve’s feet. “Mm?”

“I hate to ask you for more, but will you grab my blanket?” Steve asks, flashing those bright blue eyes. He yawns, scrunching his face up.

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky says, standing and hurrying back down the hallway to Steve’s bunk. It takes him less than thirty seconds to return holding the violently colorful fleece. He throws it over Steve’s small form, and without thinking, tucks it in around him. Once he’s finished, Bucky pulls back, and blinks down at Steve. “I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry, do you want me to…?” He leans down, and makes to undo the tight tuck around Steve.

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “It’s alright. It’s kinda cozy this way.” He nods towards the space next to him. “Will you stay with me? I don’t like being alone after I have to use my nebulizer.”

Bucky plops down on the couch next to Steve, and attempts to make himself comfortable. After a moment, he reaches down and tugs his boots off, and lets them thump to the ground by his feet. Shifting a little, Bucky pulls his legs up to rest on the couch, too. He settles, and takes a breath before glancing over at Steve. The mess of Steve’s blond hair practically glows in the light of the bus. He’s tucked all of himself under the blanket, and is leaning his head against the arm of the couch.

Bucky feels warm from the inside out, watching Steve for a moment, noting the slow rise and fall of his ribs. It’s easy enough to see that Steve’s breathing better, a little freer than he had been earlier. Reaching over slowly, Bucky sneaks his hand under the fleece blanket to circle his fingers around Steve’s ankle. His skin is cold, a little clammy. Steve shifts, and pushes his foot against Bucky’s thigh, giving him easier access.

“Hey,” Bucky says, soft. He strokes the tips of his fingers over the delicate bone of Steve’s ankle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Steve’s head swivels just a little. He flashes a vaguely confused look, like all his synapses aren’t firing right. He blinks slowly.

“I mean, about anything?” Bucky clarifies.

“Oh,” Steve says. He studies Bucky’s face again, and smiles at whatever he finds there. “I do now.”

Bucky smiles back, and shifts just the tiniest bit closer to Steve. He wiggles into the squishy cushions, and lets his head fall back against the pillow behind him. This is comfortable. The couch, his position, Steve being next to him. Ultimate comfort.

“You wanna watch anything?” Bucky asks, not bothering to turn his head to look at Steve.

“Does Netflix have _Lion King_?” Steve asks, quietly.

“Um, lemme check,” Bucky says, reaching for the Xbox controller. It doesn’t take him very long to boot the system up and get Netflix open. A frustrating search later (he keeps selecting the wrong letters) proves that the Disney movie _is_ on Netflix. He starts it up, and settles back into his previous spot on the couch. The slow cartoon sunrise starts, and then the loud singing of “Circle of Life” plays. Bucky grins, suddenly nostalgic for his childhood and his sisters. Once the song switches to English, Bucky asks, “You like Disney movies?

Steve shifts a little, enough that he can look at Bucky again. He nods, and says, “It was a thing that me and my mom did. We’d watch Disney movies together when they happened to be on TV, go see the new ones when they came out, all of that.” He sighs, and adds, “When she was in the hospital, near the end, it was all she’d watch. Anything Disney made, but _Lion King_ was her particular favorite.”

Bucky’s heart clenches in his chest. “Ah, Steve, I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t be,” Steve says, reaching out to touch Bucky on his arm. “Don’t be. I miss her, but I always will. I’m okay now, alright? I’ve got the Erskines, I’ve got the band, I’ve got you.”

The simple way Steve says it makes Bucky’s heart clench even tighter. Hell yeah, Steve has him. Bucky’s not going anywhere unless he’s specifically asked.

“I want to watch this because I miss her. I miss her when I don’t feel well,” Steve says, nodding up towards the television. He lays back down. “And I do like Disney movies, regardless of my mom. I like the artistry, the music, the stories. They’re comfort movies, a lot of them.”

Bucky nods, pulling his eyes away from Simba getting baptised by Rafiki. Steve has somehow managed to tuck himself back into his blanket. “I liked them a lot when I was younger, but I haven’t seen any of the more recent ones. War, recovery, y’know. There wasn’t any time.”

Steve turns his head, and beams before saying, “You and me. We’re gonna fix that.”

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

So so sorry, Nashville. I had an asthma attack right before the show.

I can’t perform like this, but we’ll be back soon. I promise.

 

 **🦋** **yvonne** _@ythomas89_

@sgrogers89 omg feel better, steve!

 

 **can you feel my heart?** **⏰💣** _@moonheart123_

@sgrogers89 please don’t worry! we’d all rather you be safe and healthy!

 

 **R E N E E** **🗡** _@treebird34_

@sgrogers89 💔 i’ve been looking forward to this show all week

 

***

 

“Hey.”

“Hey, Barnes.”

“ _Baaaarnes_.”

Bucky opens one eye, blearily looking around at his surroundings. This is the lounge, which means he fell asleep here last night. Fuck. Bucky rubs at his eyes for a moment before blinking up to the person who’d woken him up. Clint is right there, holding two mugs of coffee. Bucky shifts, and holds a hand out for one. Clint gently sets a purple mug that says #1 AUNT into Bucky’s palm.

“You, uh, slept a long-ass time,” Clint says, plopping down on the couch opposite Bucky’s. He’s talking at a normal volume this morning, which means he’s got at least one hearing aid in. Bucky’s thankful -- he probably couldn’t have handled Clint’s normal shout-talking after waking up like this. Bucky sits up slowly, and watches as Clint chugs at his coffee like he’s got a time limit.

“How long?” Bucky asks, sipping at his own. It’s hot and tastes like the manna of life itself. “Where’s Ste -- everyone else?”

Clint flashes him a look that says he knows exactly who Bucky’s concerned for, but doesn’t say anything. “Bout ten hours, give or take. You’n’Steve conked out around eleven, and it’s about that now.” He takes another long swig of his coffee before answering Bucky’s second question. He nods towards the front of the bus. “They’re all up there. Peggy’s trying to get Steve to cancel another show, to rest, but he’s not havin’ it. I got tired of their fighting cats routine and came back here.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Fighting cats?”

Clint snorts into his mug, laughing at himself. “They hiss and spit at each other, but it’s all talk. They love each other too much to really mean anything they say.”

Bucky nods, and sips slowly at his coffee. He starts to feel himself really come awake as the hot liquid seeps into his bones. Once he’s about half-way through the mug, he looks back at Clint before glancing out the windows behind him. Nothing familiar passes. Just fields and trees, and trees and fields. “Where are we?”

Clint shrugs. “Somewhere in Tennessee?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Very helpful, thanks.”

Clint grins, and goes back to his coffee with a look of bliss on his face. Bucky slowly gets to his feet with a groan, and still carrying his mug, heads towards the sound of voices at the front of the bus. When he arrives, Peggy and Steve are leaning over the small table, foreheads inches from each other. They’re whisper-shouting over each other. Neither one of them looks particularly mad. Steve even looks like he’s enjoying himself. Bucky can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but figures it doesn’t actually matter very much.

“Mornin’,” he says, lifting his mug in their direction once everyone’s faces turn towards him. Thor is sitting next to Peggy, arms crossed over his chest

Steve’s face lights up like the sun the moment he sees Bucky, his entire demeanour changing. He pulls away from Peggy, and pops down into the actual seat of the booth around the table. He smiles, wide and happy, and it sends shoots of warm, gooey happiness sliding right down Bucky’s spine.

“You’re awake,” Steve says, a bit dumbly. He looks pretty good for having a major asthma attack the night before. Bucky’s eyes dart over his face quickly, trying to check for any lingering symptoms. As far as Bucky can tell, he just looks a little pale, maybe a little tired. Steve’s got on his wire-rimmed glasses, and a huge tie-dyed hoodie that all but swallows his small frame. He looks cuddly, if Bucky had to put a word to it.  

Bucky nods in response, and smiles back before asking, “What are we arguing about?”

“Pegs wants us to cancel tomorrow’s show,” Steve says, simply. “I don’t want to.”

Bucky nods a few times, and then looks at Peggy over Steve’s shoulder. She looks slightly rumpled, and more than a little miffed. Bucky flashes an apologetic look, and then asks, “You really think they need to cancel another show?”

Peggy closes her eyes, and lets out a sigh through her nose before opening her eyes and answering. “Steve has the unfortunate habit of attempting to perform while he’s unwell. I’m… trying to avoid that.”

Bucky nods again, completely understanding where Peggy’s coming from. She’s trying to avoid another hospital stay, which he 100% backs. If they can avoid Steve having to go to the ER at any point in this tour, Bucky’s all for it. He looks back at Steve, and narrows his eyes at him.

“You feel like you could perform? _Really_?”

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, and then shrugs half-heartedly. “Not tonight, no. Tomorrow? Probably.”

Bucky glances at Peggy, who lets out another heavy sigh. She sits down, leans back against the tough cushion and taps one finger on the table right in front of Steve. “How about this -- we wait, and see how you feel tomorrow?” Peggy offers, with half a smile. “If you feel up to it, we’ll trust you, and you can play. If not, then we’ll cancel and that will be that.”

Steve turns around, and looks at Peggy. He nods. “That...that works.”

“Was that so hard?” Thor says, with a roll of his eyes. He lets his head loll back against the booth, blonde hair trailing down to his chest.

Natasha snorts as she comes up from behind Bucky. Where the hell had she been this entire time? Surely she could have ended the argument faster. “They like the argument, Thor. You know that,” Natasha says, deftly moving around Bucky to perch on the end of the table. “It’s like two dogs with a toy. Verbal tug of war.”

Steve flicks Natasha’s thigh with a finger, and glares at her. She smirks back.

 

***

  
Steve finds Bucky later, curled up in his bunk reading a book on his Kindle. It’s not a very _good_ book, so he sets it down, and looks over his shoulder at the smaller man. Steve’s rocking back and forth on his heels. When he sees Bucky look at him, he smiles.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna come watch _Tangled_ with me?”

Bucky grins, and rolls over so he faces Steve fully. It’s a bit of a process -- these bunks are just not made for someone his size. He barely fits lengthwise, and has to be careful with the height. “That a Disney movie?”

“Uh huh. Came out in 2010, I checked. You probably haven’t seen it?” Steve answers, cocking his head a little. He looks hopeful, big blue eyes flashing behind his glasses.

Bucky extricates himself from his bunk, and pulls himself up to his full height. He stretches his long arms towards the ceiling forcing his back to pop, before saying, “I don’t think I have… what’s it about?”

“Rapunzel, her chameleon friend, and her prince-guy!”

“Oh. It’s got music?”

“Yep, and it’s _good_ music, too.”

“Okay, let’s watch it.”

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

🌻 flower gleam and glow, let your power shine 🌻

 

***

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

After Nashville, Bucky starts to notice things. Not big things, per se, but things he hasn’t noticed before. Specifically, things about Steve.

Like, whenever Steve enters a room where Bucky _might_ be, he looks all around until he finds him, then he smiles, a big wide grin that shows off all his crooked teeth. Bucky only knows this because Steve had been the last one into the green room after the Atlanta show. Bucky had been curled up in a janky armchair, hidden behind Thor’s bulk. He’d watched as Steve came to a halt in the middle of the room, and looked over everyone quickly, only visibly relaxing when Bucky waved at him. The smile he’d gotten in return rivaled the sun. He’d felt warm the rest of the night, a pleasant feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

And when they’d gone out to dinner the _next_ night, Steve all but knocked Natasha out of the way to get the seat directly across from Bucky. He’d tangled their feet together under the table, worn-in Converse hooked around combat boots. Bucky didn’t move the entire time they were at the restaurant, too afraid to break the spell.

And now, now, they’re watching the Harry Potter movies, in order, one right after the other. Bucky had been all for it when Peter suggested it, but only if they took short breaks between each movie. Steve hadn’t been too interested, until Bucky spoke up about wanting to watch. Then, much to Bucky’s utter confusion, Steve leapt at the chance. Everyone but Angie was in the back of the bus, spread out amongst the three couches. Natasha and Clint were sharing one, nestled up together under a black, soft-looking blanket. Peggy and Peter shared another, each on opposite ends. Somehow, Steve and Bucky had ended up with Thor, which meant they were all _very_ close to one another.

Ten minutes into the movie, and Bucky feels cold fingers press against his side. He glances over to Steve, a question on his face, but finds Steve staring away, very focused on the movie. Bucky narrows his eyes at him, but slowly crosses his arms over his chest, counting on their bulk to hide his own fingers searching out Steve’s.

Their fingers meet, and intertwine. They’re holding hands, sort of. It’s really just the barest tips of their fingers, but it’s something. Something they’ve never done before. Bucky shifts his weight, leaning towards Steve just a little more. Steve adjusts, and suddenly their shoulders are pressed together, bony and sharp against metal.

It’s not a lot, really, in the grand scheme of things, but it almost feels like a declaration.

  


***

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

i think i’m a hufflepuff

 

***

 

“ _NEW ORLEANS_ ,” Steve shouts into the microphone, before holding it out towards the audience. The crowd screams back at him, waving flags and posters and hands in the air. “How y’all doing tonight?” Steve asks, waiting once more for the volume of the crowd to give an answer. The kids in front of Bucky screech as a reply, a high-pitched noise that drives right down his spine. He winces as it seems to echo in his ears. Bucky closes one eye as he wiggles his left ear plug back into its proper place.

“You know we love your great city, right?” Steve asks. Of course, there’s another surge of noise. Bucky turns around to glare at Steve, but is instead entranced with how he looks. Steve is in his element on stage, able to command the crowd with a wave of his hand. Tonight, he’s got red lines streaked down his face, all pointing directly at his mouth. His hair is a mess, sweat already plastering it to his forehead. With the neon lights shining behind him, Steve is lit up like an angel.

A sweaty, punk angel.

Bucky has to turn away lest he get more distracted than he already is.

The show rattles on, STAR PLAN playing loud and strong the entire time. Bucky watches the crowd, only stepping in once to make sure a younger fan can see well enough over the barricade. He lets her put her feet up on it -- she’s gotta be at least eight, maybe nine. Everyone else is on their best behavior, something that still surprises him after the mess that had been Chicago. Maybe the story had been put on the internet, explaining what the band had gone through. Or maybe this is just how STAR PLAN fans _are_. Either way, it makes Bucky’s job a helluva lot easier.

“I’d like to dedicate this next song to everyone who’s a little unsure. To anyone who’s got a crush, to anyone who needs that push to take the next step forward. This one’s for you, okay?” Steve says, mouth almost directly on the microphone. His words come out a little mushed with noise, but the sentiment is understood.

The lights switch over to blue as the song starts, and Bucky is hit with a jolt of surprise. The song is called “Aquaman,” but he’s never actually listened to the lyrics properly enough to understand what the song is about. Bucky shifts his weight, leans back against the stage and _listens._

_“_ _The real life love is under the mirror of the surface_

_So cut my cord I want to know how deep we can take it_

_See the thing you've been chasing, honey_

_You'll never find it wearin' a life vest_

_You gotta risk your neck know in your heart it will be worth it...”_

Bucky blinks as the lyrics slowly start to make sense. Steve’s crooning away, moving about the stage like he couldn’t stand still to save his life. He starts on one end, and then makes his way to the other, bending down to try and reach the crowd behind the barricade. There’s no way he can, unfortunately, and this isn’t quite the right song for crowd surfing. Instead, Steve sits down on the edge of the stage right in the center, and sings. Bucky can see him out of the corner of his eye.

_“So here we go head first and no regrets and no rules_

_We can stay as long as we want_

_Slow dancing in the darkness_

_And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on…”_

The lyrics resonate deep within him. Is that all he needs to do? Take a leap into the unknown with Steve? Curious, he turns to look at Steve, where he sits on the stage, swinging his legs over the edge. Steve glances his way, and smiles knowingly.

  


***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

big thanks to @gaybe07 for bringing us beignets after the show tonight!

they’re all gone already!

 

***

 

“You like him, don’t you?”

Natasha’s voice sends Bucky jumping in place, slapping a hand over his heart to try and get it back to a semi-normal beat. She’s right behind him suddenly, sipping at a half-empty bottle of water. A white hand towel is draped around her neck. Her bright red hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

“ _What_?” Bucky says, unsure of where the hell she came from, and why she’s asking it now.

Natasha gives him an unimpressed look, and nods towards backstage, where the rest of the band must be hiding out. The concert finished about fifteen minutes ago, but there’s still some straggling fans dragging their feet towards the exit. Bucky’s watching them meander out, to be sure they all actually leave. Natasha takes another drink of her water before saying, “Steve. You like _Steve_.”

There’s two ways he can play this, Bucky realizes. He can either deny, deny, deny, or he can willingly misunderstand her. Admitting it is not on the cards. Never, not in a million years. At least, not to Natasha. If he ever does spill his feelings out, it’ll be straight to Steve’s face. If he can ever muster up the courage to do so.

“Of course I like him, he’s my friend,” Bucky says, going with the willingly misunderstand route. It’s the easiest of the two, because he does not have a great poker face in situations like this.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and moves closer, right up into Bucky’s personal space. She points one finger at his chest, and pokes him, dead center. “You hurt him, I hurt you, you got it?”

“Natasha, I don’t…”

She takes a step back, and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “You don’t what, Barnes?” Natasha points her water bottle at him. Condensation drips down the sides of it. “Like him? You do. Anyone with eyes can see it. So, don’t hurt him.” She says all of this like it’s common sense, like Bucky should already know what she’s going to say. He understands _why_ she’s saying it, but there’s a huge part of him that doesn’t get why now? Why is this important right this second?

Bucky takes a deep breath, and runs his right hand over his face. He shakes his head at Natasha, and then shrugs, half-heartedly. “I can’t make that promise. I’m not… I’m not _admitting_ anything, but you _know_ I can’t promise that. No one can.”

Natasha rolls back on her heels and looks at him like she’s trying to see through his skin. Bucky blinks at her, and tilts his head as if to say, _What do you want?_ Natasha smiles at him, then, which shocks him enough to make him lean back a little. She smiles, and it’s a genuine one, not the scary predatory one that she uses when she wants something. Natasha finishes off her bottle of water. She laughs, softly, and says, “Oh, you’ll do just fine.”

She climbs the stairs to the stage, and disappears behind the curtains.

Bucky’s left in the middle of the floor, confused.

 

***

 

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

austin, we’re coming for ya.

tomorrow night, tix still available!

 

***

 

It’s a no-hotel night, so the band piles into the bus right after the show. They go hurtling down the interstate, trying to reach Austin, TX by sunrise for reasons no one can quite explain. Bucky assumes its something to do with how they probably want as much time in Austin as they can possibly get. He’s heard the city’s reputation and is more than slightly interested himself. He’s never been to Texas, as he’s much too attached to New York. Too many bad news stories come out of Texas for him to have really considered visiting before now.

As soon as he’s able, Bucky throws himself into his bunk, barely wiggling out of his jeans before finangling himself under the covers. He’s exhausted, tonight. There’s no real physical reason for why he’s as tired as he is, but it might be mental. Natasha cornering him like that has him _thinking._ And thinking like this only ever leads to him spiralling unhealthy, or chasing him out of a possible good thing. Bucky needs to _stop thinking._

He grabs his Kindle, shoved between the bed and the wall of the bus, and fumbles with it until he can turn it on. Bucky stares at it for a few minutes, trying to read. When nothing manages to filter through to his brain, he lets the device flop forward onto his chest. Bucky sighs, and stares up at the ceiling of his bunk, too close for any real comfort.

“Hey.”

Bucky turns his head, and Steve is right there, peering down at him with a half-smile. He’s got on a huge black t-shirt, and Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms. The black shirt is big enough that most of one bony shoulder peeks out from the neckline. Bucky stares for a second, before dragging his eyes back up towards Steve’s face. Exhaustion is written all over his features. Stifling a yawn, Steve says, “You tryin’ to sleep?”

Nodding, Bucky answers, “Yeah, soon. Gonna try to read for a bit.” He’s not sure how much actual sleep he’ll get tonight, but he’ll at least attempt to get some rest before tomorrow. He wants to explore Austin, and maybe figure out his own feelings regarding a certain singer of a certain band. Maybe. That’s if his brain wants to cooperate.

“Okay,” Steve says, with another little smile. “I just wanted to say goodnight.” He pauses, and then laughs, mostly at himself. Steve scrunches up his nose, and says, “So, goodnight?”

Bucky can’t help but smile back, not when Steve looks the way he does. “Goodnight,” Bucky says, with a wave. He adds, before he can think about it, “Sleep well.”

That get him another smile, this one wide and wonderful. Steve waves too, and heads up towards his own bunk, just across the way. Once he’s up and settled, Steve calls out softly, “Sweet dreams, Buck.” He shuts the curtains afterwards, leaving Bucky staring at the ugly maroon fabric.

  


***

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

what’s the best thing to eat here, austin?

 

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

@pizzzapizzap1zza is it bbq? i hope it’s bbq.

 

***

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

Bucky gets approximately zero sleep.

It’s one thing to not sleep because he can’t get comfortable, but another thing entirely when it’s because his anxiety’s ramped up to eleven on a scale that ends at ten. His brain has been going nonstop since Steve wished him goodnight.

The thing is, he _knows_ he likes Steve. Maybe it even goes beyond simple like and more into possible love. It’s not...not there _yet_ , but Bucky feels deep inside his head that it could be one day. The possibility is there, anyway. But what he’s less sure about is how Steve feels about him. He’s eighty percent sure Steve likes him the same way. But that twenty percent of uncertainty just makes his anxiety come back into play. What if he’s been reading this whole thing wrong? What if Steve is just touchy with all his friends? What if, what if, _what if._

It’s enough to keep him up almost the whole night.

He must fall asleep, though, because he wakes to the smell of coffee brewing somewhere outside his bunk. Bucky stays inside his little nook for another minute or two, staring up at the ceiling above him. When he starts to feel uncomfortably big in a small space, Bucky slides the curtain open and rolls out onto his feet.

Thor is standing by the coffee maker, looking both sleepy and confused. His hair is piled on top of his head in a messy bun again, a purple scrunchy holding the bulk of it up. Bucky stares for a minute (he’s only human, okay? And Thor is...Thor.) before glancing around. It looks like almost everyone else is awake -- only one of the bunks still has its curtains closed. Bucky goes to stand next to Thor, waiting for the coffee to be done.

“You ever been here before, Barnes?” Thor asks, nodding towards the front of the bus. Bucky shakes his head, sending his hair flying. He pulls at a plain hair tie on his own wrist, and quickly gathers it all into a small bun at the base of his neck. Thor grins, showing off almost disturbingly white teeth. “You’re gonna love it. It’s one of our favorite places to perform.”

After finishing out a persistent yawn, Bucky asks, “Got any recommendations?”

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i fucking love south congress street.

 

***

 

After both Thor and Steve say they have to go to South Congress Street, that’s where Bucky and Steve end up. It turns out the street hosts an interesting collection of shops and restaurants. They walk up and down both sides of the street for a few hours, dipping into each shop to look at what they offer, before heading back out into the Texas sun.

It is _hot_. The weather app on Bucky’s phone proclaims it to be a nice 89 degrees. There’s absolutely no breeze, which means the heat sticks to the cement roads and walkways and bakes them.

Bucky hadn’t really given a thought to the weather when he’d dressed that morning, but it didn’t take long for him to regret wearing a black long-sleeved shirt in the late-May heat. By the time the end up at the ‘end’ of the shops, Bucky’s got sweat dripping down the divot of his spine, and both sleeves pushed up to his elbows. But regardless of the brutal heat, Bucky is thoroughly enjoying himself.

Steve leads them into an odd little shop. Bucky’s not quite sure what to call it, but it sells toys, action figures, stickers, plushies, those Funko Pop things that he doesn’t understand, and other strange things. Bucky looks around, picking up a six-foot-long plush of a rattlesnake. The tail rattles as he moves it, much to his surprise. Bucky sets it back down, and moves towards the next shelf. He looks up to scan the shop for Steve, and finds him at the back. He’s picking through a bowl of loose stickers.

“Buck?” Steve asks, looking up. He’s got a few stickers in his hands. “You like any of these?”

“Lemme see,” Bucky says, closing the distance between them. He leans over Steve’s shoulder to see what he’s holding. Steve spreads them out on his palm. There’s a dinosaur holding a rainbow flag, a skull surrounded by flowers, two crossed swords with a vine wrapped around them, and a cute fat little cat in a teacup. Bucky laughs, happily, before pointing at the dinosaur and the teacup cat. “These two?”

Steve looks up at him, and grins. “You got it.” He points at the sign above the bowl. “It’s ten for $5, so I wanted to…” He lets his words drift off, and shrugs. He dumps the unpicked stickers back into the bowl, and starts picking out others.

Bucky nods, and starts to pick through the bowl, too.

In the end, they pick out five stickers each. Steve buys them, and hands Bucky his as they leave the store. As soon as they’re out of the way, Bucky sticks the dinosaur on the back of his phone case.

 

***

 

 **THOR** ⚡ _@theTHUNDERER_ **✔**

@pizzapizzap1zza okay, fine, you win at barbeque

[picture of a mostly empty plate of barbeque]

 

***

 

“Hey Buck?” Steve’s voice calls out from across the stage. STAR PLAN is in the middle of their soundcheck, all dressed in comfy clothes. They’re not really putting their all into playing through a song, kinda half-assing it. It doesn’t matter, though. The purpose of the exercise is to make sure everything is balanced right for the crowd, not to perform for an audience that isn’t there.

“Mm?” Bucky says, looking up from his phone. He’s in the front row, first seat, half-watching the band, half-scrolling through Twitter. Steve’s standing with the toes of his Converse hanging off the edge of the stage, looking hopefully down at Bucky.

“I need your help with something. Follow me?” Steve says, hooking a thumb towards backstage. Bucky raises both eyebrows at him, but dutifully climbs the stairs up to stage level, and follows the smaller man back. What did he need help with that Thor couldn’t do? Bucky’s ninety percent sure Thor’s not only bigger, but stronger than he is. But whatever, he’ll happily do anything Steve asks him to, because he’s flat-out head over heels for him. It’s stupid, Bucky thinks, to develop a hard and fast crush the way he has, but it there is. There’s nothing he can do about it but hope and pray that Steve might feel the same way towards him.

Bucky follows Steve into the green room, looking at Steve’s back curiously the whole way. What did he need from here? Was he having another attack, and wanting company through it? Did he have something he needed to do without the band? The possibilities rumble through Bucky’s head, with him dismissing almost all of them when they come to light.

As soon the door closes behind them, Steve crowds Bucky right back up against it. Bucky’s shoulder blades are pressed uncomfortably hard against the wood of the door. There is nowhere else to go, but Steve is _right there_ in front of him, mere inches away. He looks down at Steve, and cocks his head with an unasked question. What the hell is all this about? What is Steve doing? Why here? Why right now? They’ve… they’ve never done this before. His stomach twists and turns, tying itself up in knots while Steve just _looks_ at him.

Bucky watches as Steve’s eyes dip down towards his lips, and then back up to meet Bucky’s. It does something to his insides. “You like me, right?” Steve finally says, breaking the silence between them.

Bucky is thrown by the question. He blinks, and then licks his lips. “Um?” _Yes_ , he wants to say. He wants to scream it, but he’s more than a little unsure of Steve’s motives, here.

Steve shakes his head a little. “You _like_ me. Like… agh,” Steve says, pulling away for a moment, and looking frustrated. He scrubs both hands over his face, and then gestures between them. “We… we flirt, right? That’s what that is?”

Bucky nods, slowly, feeling his hair drag against the door behind him. _Please_ , he throws out into the universe, _please let this be what I think it is._

“And we like each other, for real?” Steve asks, taking a step closer. His eyes look so incredibly blue, shining with hope. Bucky realizes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this conversation feels like something between high schoolers, between kids who aren’t quite sure how to navigate this playing field yet. It’s not _wrong_ , this feeling. He _is_ a little lost here.

Bucky nods again, finding his voice at the last second. “For real,” he says, as he nods. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t play like that. Not anymore.” He used to be quite the flirt, back before the military, before he’d seen war and lost an arm. Then Bucky had come back, any sense of confidence gone. What he’d been doing with Steve, if that could really be called flirting, that had been 100% real, from a place deep within his heart.

This time, Steve nods and seems to square himself a little. He moves closer, so the toes of their shoes touch with a soft squeak. Bucky searches Steve’s face for a hint of anything to help him figure this whole conversation out. He _thinks_ he knows where it’s going, but his stomach has flip-flopped approximately 9 million times since Steve’s cornered him, so who knows, really. Steve smiles, a grin that lights up his face entirely, before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky lets out a small squeak, and feels his face flush red. He takes a breath, closes his eyes for a moment, and then exhales. When he opens his eyes, Steve is still right in front of him, looking hopeful. Bucky smiles, suddenly relaxed. They’re both nervous, he realizes. They’re both unsure. _It’s okay._

He takes another breath and says, “Please?”

Steve, still smiling, leans in and slowly raises himself up on the tips of his toes. Bucky, always helpful, closes the distance between them, stopping just short of meeting Steve’s mouth with his own. For some reason that he can’t quite explain, he wants Steve to kiss him first.

Steve lays his hand flat on Bucky’s chest for balance, and with one last surge, presses his lips to Bucky’s. It lasts maybe a second or two before Steve pulls away, looking like the cat that got the cream.

It’s a short, barely-there, chaste kiss.

It’s also the best kiss of Bucky’s life.

Bucky hooks his hand on Steve’s jaw, thumb right before his ear, and tugs Steve back into another kiss. Steve makes a surprised noise, but quickly recovers, tilting his head just so, so their lips slide into place against one another. Bucky kisses him soft, and then hard, and then reluctantly pulls back so they can breathe.

“I didn’t want to wait any longer,” Steve says quietly between them. Bucky can feel his breath on the skin of his neck, warm and wet. He shivers, and slowly wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, hauling him closer.

“You were waiting?” Bucky asks, confused. He presses a feather-light kiss against Steve’s sharp cheekbone.

Steve pulls back just enough to give Bucky an incredulous look. “Since the moment I met you, really.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, feeling stupid and relieved and confused all at once. He blinks, and smiles down at Steve again, feeling warm. “I’m here now.”

“You are,” Steve agrees, and pushes back up on his toes to kiss Bucky properly.

 

***

 

It’s all but impossible to pay attention to the show now that Bucky knows exactly what it’s like to kiss Steve. Somehow, he manages, and somehow, things go alright. No one tries anything stupid, no one climbs on the barricade. Overall, the Austin audience is probably one of the best-behaved crowds yet. Bucky wishes he could thank them all collectively, but he doesn’t have the social media reach that the band does. He settles for giving them smiles whenever he mets anyone’s eye.

He feels like an enormous bubble of happiness has inflated inside him. If he moves too much, maybe it’ll burst, but it’s there, right there in his chest. Things are happening! Steve and he kissed, for real, with their mouths. He has a wonderful job, at something he’s good at. He’s got friends now, real ones he can talk to whenever he wants.

It’s amazing, Bucky thinks, how much his life has changed in a little less than two months. He’d gone from a lonely mostly-unemployed mess to someone with an actual life. He’s got a job, he’s got friends, he’s got… a… well, he’s not quite sure what Steve and he _are_ yet, but they’re something. There’s definitely something there.

While he’s watching the crowd file out of the venue after the show, Bucky can’t help the smile on his face. It’s wide, out of control, and makes his cheeks hurt. He doesn’t want it to stop. He wants to find Steve, pick him up, and carry him somewhere private. He wants to hoard him to himself, wants to stay inside for a few days with only Steve for company. He _wants_.

As he walks back to the green room, Bucky shoves his want deep down, and hopes it doesn’t show on his face. He’s not sure Steve wants anyone else to know yet. It’s okay if he doesn’t, Bucky decides. They still have to figure everything out themselves.

Bucky pushes the door open without knocking -- and is greeted by the sight of the band piled onto squashy couches. Someone, probably Angie, has brought them a full out smorgasbord of fast food. There are bags from McDonald’s, Burger King, Panda Express, and Taco Bell. It’s all probably horrible, but it’s at least hot and they’re hungry. Bucky manages to sit on the arm of one couch, crowding accidentally into Clint’s space.

“Good show,” Bucky says, before taking a huge bite out of a soft taco. He glances across the table to Steve. He’s squished between Thor and Natasha, but he looks like he’s vibrating with excitement. Bucky knows the feeling.

“The crowd had a good energy,” Steve says, around a handful of french fries. He chews, swallows, and then grins at Bucky like he can’t contain it anymore.

Bucky smiles back, before finishing his taco in one enormous bite.

Between the lot of them, they clean out all the fast food bags. Once there’s nothing more to eat, there’s no reason to stick around at the venue. The roadies would have finished packing their equipment and whatnot back onto the bus while they ate. They all file out of the green room door, heading towards the bus at the back of the building. Bucky lollygags for a minute or two, waiting until everyone but Steve is out of the room.

“Hey,” Bucky says, grabbing at his hand before he heads towards the door. He tugs Steve back into him. Steve lets himself be pulled backward.

“Mm?” Steve says, grinning up at him. He looks exhausted, but too hyped up to notice. The face paint he’d drawn on himself earlier is all but gone, only streaks of color remaining by his cheekbones.

“I… ” Bucky starts, with a smile. He doesn’t know what to say. He knows what he wants, but it can’t be that simple, can it? He stares at Steve for a moment longer before mentally sighing, and just saying, “I want to kiss you again.”

“I _want you_ to kiss me again,” Steve says, with a hint of a laugh.

“Can I?” Bucky whispers.

“Please,” Steve says, tilting his face up.

Bucky slides a hand into the hair at the back of Steve’s neck, and holds him still. He presses his lips to Steve’s left cheek, then right, then the tip of his nose, feather light. He kisses him on the forehead, and then on the chin, and then, without wasting any more time, kisses him on the lips.

Steve lets out a soft, “Oh,” as their lips meet.

Bucky swallows the noise, and kisses Steve again.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

good shit happens in austin.

 

***

 

As soon as the hotel door is shut behind Steve, Bucky starts a sentence and doesn’t finish it. He goes, “I…” and lets it trail off. He knows what he wants to say but it’s hard to get the words out. There’s a heavy static in the air between them, the weight of what could be, what could happen. It’s a little bit draining, plus they’re both exhausted, yawning every other second, blinks turning long and slow. Bucky moves close to Steve, unsure. They’ve kissed now… he doesn’t even know how many times, but is that enough? Does Steve want more? Bucky wants more, but not tonight. Not so soon, not so quick.

Whirling around to face him, Steve says, “Buck,” in a pleasant, happy tone. The sweat in his hair has dried, sending it curling up from his scalp in a beautiful mess. Bucky wants to scrape his fingers through it, wants to mess it up even further but refrains. There will be time for that soon, maybe. If he manages to get out what he wants to say.

Bucky shakes himself a little, and gets out a sentence. “I… is it okay if we, if we take whatever this is,” he gestures between them, and continues, “Slow?” He takes a breath, and says, “I… I don’t have good luck with relationships. My last one, if you could even call it one, it ended...not great. And, and if that’s what you want, a relationship with me, I… I’d rather we take our time?”

Steve sits down on the end of the nearest bed, and pats the spot next to him. Bucky goes, shifting his weight so it doesn’t completely displace Steve. He stares at him, stomach clenching hard. Why are conversations like this so hard? Why can’t he ever just say what he wants without having to start and stop a million times?

Reaching over, Steve sets his hand on Bucky’s knee, and says, “It’s not just about what I want, Bucky. It should be about what we both want, together.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s knee, and then pokes him in the side, gently. “So what do _you_ want?”

Staring at him, Bucky is suddenly fraught with the idea of wanting something. He wants Steve, has since meeting him, but now that he has the possibility of it actually happening, he doesn’t know what to say. What if Steve just wants a casual thing? Bucky’s never been casual in his entire life. No, wait, that’s a lie. He was casual before, before the war. But after? He couldn’t even if he wanted to. When Bucky found someone he was attracted to, he felt a whole lot all at once.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, ducking his head down to meet his eyes. “You alright?”

Blinking, Bucky meets his eyes with an almost smile. “Yeah, I just… I’m not good at talking about this kinda stuff?”

Steve’s face softens, and he moves close, leaning his slight weight against Bucky’s metal shoulder. Bucky never wants him to move. Steve presses impossibly closer, and says, “Okay, how about this, I… list options, and you tell me what you think sounds good?”

“No, that’s...that’s a cop out,” Bucky says, frustrated with himself. “I’m supposed to talk. My therapist… before, she said I should try to talk it out whenever possible.”

A vaguely proud look flashes over Steve’s face before he nods. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky takes in a breath, and nods. Okay, he can figure this out. It’s Steve he’s talking to, for Pete’s sake. Not an authority figure, not someone who will judge him. Steve, the man he’s been crushing on for two months, and who’s apparently been crushing on him right back. He can talk to him. He’s always been able to talk to him. Why’s this any different?

Steve shifts and turns his hand so his palm faces the ceiling, a silent offer. Bucky gently threads his fingers between Steve’s, and holds on.

They sit like that, at the end of Bucky’s bed, for ten minutes before Bucky is finally able to form a sentence he feels okay saying out loud.

“I want a relationship,” Bucky admits, feeling his face flush pink. “Exclusive. No… no one else.”

Steve turns suddenly, immediately putting both of his hands on either side of Bucky’s face. His palms are almost hot against Bucky’s skin. Steve darts in quick, and kisses Bucky once, solidly on the mouth. He pulls back, and grins as wide as he can before saying, “I want that, too.”

Relief floods Bucky’s body, deflating him a little. “Oh good,” he says, with a slightly hysterical giggle.

Steve snorts as he laughs, leaning into Bucky’s shoulder again. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“Wasn’t sure,” Bucky admits, with a shrug. “I’m very happy you do, though.”

Steve grins at him, wiggling underneath Bucky’s arm. Bucky shifts, and pulls Steve in closer.

“We can take it slow, Buck. I don’t mind that.”

Bucky smiles at him, feeling more at ease now that he used his words appropriately and managed to get what he wanted. With a sigh, he falls backward bringing Steve with him, so they’re both laying on their backs staring up at the ceiling. It’s surprisingly comfortable. He takes a deep breath in, and says, “I want to keep kissing you, though, okay?”

Steve wiggles his way into a slight sitting position, so he can look down at Bucky with a smug expression. “Yeah, we’re not stopping that anytime soon.”

Bucky laughs brightly, and tugs Steve back down next to him. He twists, and rests a hand on Steve’s jaw before leaning down to fit his mouth over Steve’s. They kiss for awhile, softly and unhurried, and eventually fall asleep right there, on top of the covers.

 

***

 

The ride up to Dallas is about three hours long, maybe a little shorter. They don’t end up actually leaving Austin until around eleven the next morning, everyone a little bit tired, and a little bit hyped up from the previous night’s show. Bucky’s been awake since about ten, wandering around the bus like a lost soul. He’s not quite sure what to do with himself, now that he and Steve are a _thing_. Is he supposed to tell everyone? Are they keeping it a secret? He’s not sure, so for the moment, he’s keeping mum. They didn’t really get around to talking about it the previous night, having been busy with other things.  

Good things.

Really, really good things.

They hadn’t done more than kiss each other silly, but _God_. That was enough. He felt like his mouth was still a little swollen, like it was bright, bright pink and everyone could tell what they’d been up to just by looking at him. Bucky knew that wasn’t the case, but it didn’t keep him from gentling touching his mouth every now and then.

“You look particularly happy this morning, Barnes.”

Bucky jumps about three feet in the air, even though he’s sitting down. He’s squashed himself into the corner of a couch, trying to be as small as he possibly can. Even though there’s not a giant blinking sign over his head telling everyone that Steve and he had kissed, it still feels like it. Maybe if he’s small, and out of the way, no one will notice. That _had_ been his logic, anyway. Clearly, it hadn’t worked, because Natasha’s staring at him with one eyebrow raised.

“I...uh… am?” Bucky says, trying hard not to look her in the eyes.

Natasha sits down across from him, and waves a hand like _continue._ “Any particular reason why?” She asks, taking a loud slurp from the mug in her hand. It’s red, chipped by the handle, and says MR. RIGHT in big white letters. Bucky stares at it for a moment before looking back up at her.

“No… ?”

Natasha just blinks at him over the edge of her mug. Bucky stares back at her for a moment, blinks, and looks down the hallway to the front of the bus. Steve and Peggy are sitting at the table up there, flipping through the newspaper one of them had bought at the hotel. Steve’s making faces at an article, while Peggy pencils in answers to a crossword. It’s cute, a pretty domestic scene between the two of them.

Bucky wants desperately to ruin it, for some reason.

Instead, he turns back to what’s in front of him: Natasha judging him silently and Clint snoring away between them.

“Did you talk to him?” Natasha asks, nodding towards the front of the bus.

Bucky wishes he was a better liar, or at least had a good poker face. He knows Natasha has some uncanny ability to get the truth out of people with just a look, so maybe it’s better to just… admit to whatever she thinks he’s done. He chews on his lip for a moment, and then nods, hoping the silent answer will give her what she wants.

She smiles over the edge of her mug. “Good.”

Bucky nods again, gets up to help himself to coffee, and to, y’know, get away from Natasha.

 

***

 

Dallas ends up being even hotter than Austin was. It’s a brutal, thick heat with no escape in sight -- Bucky’s weather app on his phone says it’s a resounding 98 degrees out, feels like 102. It wouldn’t normally be an issue, but everyone in the band is grumbling about the show they have to perform that night.

“It’s outside,” Steve says, looking resigned. He stares at the venue outside their bus windows. It’s a huge venue that they’ll most likely not fill, but it looks like it’ll at least be a fun place to be for their fans. There’s a huge grass seating area outside of the seated section. A huge metal structure covers the seats and the stage, under which are hopefully those enormous fans Bucky’s seen at other venues.

“Are you gonna be able to perform in this heat?” Nat asks Steve, nodding her head towards the stage.

Steve shrugs. “I guess we’ll see? I’m not cancelling until we know I can’t.”

“Steve, you have to promise me that if you feel -- “ Peggy starts, but Steve interrupts. He looks mildly annoyed, but most of the way to flat-out frustrated. Bucky understands. They’re worried, sure, but it can’t be fun to be on the receiving end of that attention for every single performance. _Then again_ , Bucky gets where they’re coming from, too. Steve does not have the best track record regarding his own health.

Bucky swallows a sigh, and shifts his weight as he watches Steve answer.

“I know, Pegs. I’ll let you know, I promise. I just… we already cancelled one show. I don’t wanna cancel another.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face, and then runs it through his hair, messing it up even further. It sticks straight up in some places, which leaves him looking like a fuzzy duckling. He chews on his lip, and then flashes a hopeful look towards Peggy.

Peggy fixes him with such a strong look back that she must see straight clear down to his bones, but in the end, she nods. She grabs at her clipboard and starts furiously writing on the top page. Angie leans over her shoulder and whispers something into her ear, which makes her laugh. Bucky smiles at them, and then looks towards Steve, who is still looks worried.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Bucky asks, in a lower tone. He moves closer, and leans into Steve’s body. Steve leans back, until they’re both mutually holding the other up. Bucky sneaks his hand onto Steve’s hip, just letting it rest there. Steve doesn’t move.

“Yeah, I’ll manage,” Steve answers, running another hand over his face. He lets it fall back down to his side when he’s done. He twists, and looks up at Bucky before asking, “You think Uber’s in Dallas?”

“Dunno. You wanna go somewhere?” Bucky says, with a shrug. There’s only a few hours until soundcheck. They’re gonna have to be back here before they know it.

“Let’s find a Target or a Walmart or something. I’m gonna need shorts,” Steve says, with a scrunched-up face.

Bucky nods, and takes out his phone. He taps around, finding the Uber app, and gets them a ride.

 

***

 

They spend an hour and a half in Walmart. The AC blasts through the store, turning the inside into something resembling a walk-in freezer. It feels good compared to the unrelenting heat of outside, but Bucky still finds himself shivering as they walk down the aisles. They goof off for awhile, picking out increasingly ridiculous outfits for the other. It’s fun, to laugh and joke around like this -- Bucky’s never done it before. He’s never had anyone get close to him the same way Steve has. His entire life has been a lonely, miserable thing that never seemed to get any better until he got this job, until he met STAR PLAN, until he got Steve.

Bucky knows its not healthy to base your progress on someone else being in your life. He _knows_ that. It’s been drilled into him by many therapists, and doctors, and day-time TV shows. But at the same time, Bucky knows his life has been drastically improved by Steve’s presence in it. There’s no denying that. There’s no getting around it. So instead of worrying about it, Bucky throws himself into enjoying Steve being around.

In the end, after goofing off for far too long, Bucky buys plain black basketball shorts, a tank to match, and cheap Converse knock-offs because his combat boots will look beyond ridiculous with the rest of the outfit. The combination results in a Bucky who feels entirely uncomfortable. He knows that later  he’ll be thanking himself, after they’re outside in the heat at the show. He just hates wearing shorts. He hates showing off his legs, which are pale and pasty and covered in a light dusting of dark hair. It’s not a good look, and he’s fully aware of it.

Steve, on the other hand, ends up buying the ugliest damn shorts Bucky has seen in his entire life. He disappears while Bucky is flicking through the basketball shorts, and returns a few moments later holding up a pair of what Bucky assumes are swim trunks. The American flag makes up the majority of the design, rippling over both legs while a photo-realistic eagle appears to rip through the crotch. No amount of cajoling from Bucky sways Steve from his choice. To compliment his selection, Steve buys a very cheap, very ugly pair of cowboy boots, and a huge white tank. It’s going to look absolutely ridiculous. Steve doesn’t care.

 

***

 

Before he’s due below the stage, Steve tugs Bucky into a dark hallway and kisses him until he’s dizzy. Bucky walks on wobbly legs to his spot, smiling like a madman when he finally gets there. The opening act goes smoothly, and the crowd just gets more and more amped up the closer STAR PLAN gets to performing. It’s fascinating, to watch everyone as time passes. There are so many happy faces, albeit sweaty, red faces. From what he can see, those that tried to copy Steve’s face paint are already sweating the colors down their cheeks. Bucky’s already got drips sliding down the divot of his back, right between his shoulder blades. It’s hot. Hotter than hot.

It’s another five minutes before the band runs out onto the stage, hurriedly picking up their instruments. Bucky turns to watch, unable to help himself. Every single one of them is wearing shorts, and some version of a tank top. Natasha has slashed up one of her ugly city t-shirts, cutting the sleeves and some of the sides off to make it cooler. Thor’s wearing a white muscle shirt that’s basically pasted onto his chest, and Clint’s wearing something that looks almost exactly like the outfit he had on the night Bucky met him.

Steve slides across the stage in his brand new cowboy boots and ugly americana shorts, and says into the microphone, “Geez Dallas, could you turn the heat off next time we come?”

The crowd screams.

 

***

 

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i sweated through all my clothes.

let’s not do your shows outside in june anymore, dallas.

 

***

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

“Will you sleep next to me tonight?”

The question comes out of nowhere -- Bucky’s in the middle of digging through his suitcase to find a clean shirt when Steve comes out of the bathroom, hair dripping. He’s got a pair of black boxer-briefs on, and literally nothing else. It’s _a lot_. There’s… skin suddenly on view. Lots and lots of it. Steve’s colorful tattoos stand out starkly against his milk-pale body, and Bucky wants nothing more than to drag his tongue across every piece of art that he can find. He blinks, and stares at him some more, sure he’s visibly salivating. Steve repeats his question, with a quirk of his lips. “Bucky? Will you sleep next to me tonight?”

Bucky jumps slightly, once the question actually filters through his brain. He blinks, shakes himself, and forces himself to look Steve in the eye. “What? Sleep…?” Bucky says, a little confused at the question. He puts the shirt in his hands down on the bed lest he accidentally rip it in two with uncontrolled lust.

Steve laughs, actually throws his head back and laughs, before answering. He points at the cleaner of the two beds, and says,  “Yeah, sleep? With me? In the same bed?”

Bucky looks at him, then at the bed, and then back at Steve. “Just sleeping?” He does want more, _God_ , does he want more, but they’d agreed to go slow. They were going to take their time with this, going to savor the newness of a relationship. At least, that’s why Bucky wanted to spread things out a little. He wanted to know Steve better before they shove their hands down each other’s pants.

Steve nods, his wet hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it up and back. “Yeah, just sleeping,” he confirms, before adding, “I just want you close.”

Bucky smiles, the small private one that only Steve gets to see when they’re alone. “Yeah, I’d… I’d like that,” he answers, still grinning.

“Go shower then,” Steve says, with another laugh. He shoves Bucky playfully towards the bathroom. “We both stank when we got here. I’m clean now, it’s your turn… ” Bucky doesn’t argue with that -- his shirt feels like it’s glued to his back with sweat. He grabs at the clean shirt and boxers he laid out, and goes to shower.

By the time he’s washed, dried himself off, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth, the clock on his phone says it’s close to 1:00 am. Bucky scowls at the brightness of his screen, and shuts it off with the press of a button. He glances at himself in the mirror once more -- he looks tired, but happy -- and leaves to rejoin Steve out in the room.

It’s dark outside the bathroom, with only the TV giving off enough light to see by. Bucky moves carefully between the beds, smiling at the small lump under the covers of the left one. Steve is curled up under the sheets, a tiny little ball that Bucky wants to lay next to. It’s amazing how small he is compared to Bucky. He could crush him, if he wanted to. Just lay down and squash him into the mattress. He won’t, of course, but the weird compulsion is there to cover him with his own body and keep him safe.

“You awake still?” Bucky asks, voice quiet just in case. He pulls back the covers on the empty side of the bed as slowly as he can.

Steve’s head pops up from the pillow. He squints against the darkness -- he doesn’t have his glasses on, so he can’t see. “Barely. C’mere, would you?”

Laughing, Bucky slides himself between the sheets, and spends a moment or two getting comfortable. Sometimes it’s hard, with his arm, to find a position that won’t press too much on the shoulder joint. He hasn’t had the best of luck with hotel beds. Steve lets him adjust without complaint, but as soon as Bucky’s still for longer than thirty seconds, he wiggles his way between Bucky’s arm and his body. Steve is small enough that he fits just right.

“This okay?” Steve asks, letting his head rest on Bucky’s pec.

“More than,” Bucky answers, with a soft laugh. He pulls his arm around Steve, setting his hand on his hip. The bone is a sharp jut under Steve’s skin, fitting perfectly into Bucky’s palm. He’s so thin, so terribly thin, but he’s been like that since the day they’d met. It isn’t an indicator of anything wrong, Bucky thinks. Steve’s just one of those people who doesn’t gain weight. For a moment, Bucky falls into a fantasy of feeding him, of making sure he eats enough, and goes to bed on time, and doesn’t stage dive into a crowd of strangers. He’s pulled out of it when Steve speaks again.

“Imma fall asleep,” Steve yawns. The drone of the TV mumbles in the background. It’s some show about the wildlife in the Appalachian mountains. A bear rumbles across the screen before a commercial for McDonald’s blinks on.

“I thought that’s what we’ve been trying to do,” Bucky teases softly. He feels himself close to the great precipice of sleep, a few deep breaths before falling over.

“Mhm,” Steve says, slowly. It’s more a noise than a confirmation of anything. He shifts slightly, and rubs his face across Bucky’s chest, like a cat scent-marking its property.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” Bucky says, leaning his head down just enough to press a kiss to Steve’s slightly-damp hair.

“G’night,” Steve responds in a soft groan, going still against him. Bucky manages to stay awake just long enough for Steve to go limp, his breathing deep and even. He follows, not far behind, falling into a warm, Steve-scented dream between one breath and the next.

 

***

  **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

tacos for breakfast, anyone? 🌮

 ***

 

The show in Oklahoma City is, thankfully, inside as the temperature outside is just as hot as Dallas. Everyone on the bus is grateful -- they’d all been drenched in sweat after the Dallas show, fighting over who got the last of the water bottles, and the one clean, dry towel left. The bus ride up had been full of complaining about the previous show, so Peggy had promised to never book them an outside venue in Texas ever again.

“Why’s it so small?” Bucky asks, squinting through the windows of the bus to look at the little concert hall that STAR PLAN has been scheduled at. It’s a tiny little red-brick building in the middle of nowhere. It looks like it might hold half of the audience they’ve been pulling in the other cities.

“For some reason, we don’t pull enough people in this city to book a larger place,” Peggy answers, with a slight shrug. She lifts her red mug to her lips, and takes a sip. “If we don’t sell out tonight, I might even stop booking them here altogether. It won’t be worth it otherwise.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. He turns and sits back down on the couch, and goes right back to reading his book. Steve’s somewhere else on the bus, probably bothering Nat judging from her lack of presence back here. A quick glance towards the front of the bus proves this to be true. Nat and Steve are around the little table, playing a card game or something, Bucky can’t quite see. He smiles when Steve looks up and catches his eye, but goes back to his book. They’re having fun together, and Bucky really wants to finish this chapter.

 

***

 

They don’t sell out the show, but it’s fun anyway. Because it’s a smaller venue, Steve gets the chance to interact with the audience a little bit more on a personal level. Between songs, Bucky watches as Steve swings down between the stage and the barricade to ask silly questions of the audience. It feels more like a gathering between friends than a true concert. It’s fine, though. It’s fun. Bucky’s barely watching the audience, because they’re behaving. Sure, they’re screaming, and laughing, and singing along, but no one’s fighting, or shouting slurs, or climbing the barricades. Sometimes, Bucky feels like a babysitter with a room full of uncoordinated toddlers. Tonight, though, everyone’s acting their age. It makes it easier for him to relax, to enjoy the environment that Steve’s created.

At one point, Thor even asks the crowd what song they should play next. It’s a mishmash of shouted answers, but Steve picks out a song from the noise and then they’re off. They stick to the setlist after that, for time management reasons, but it ends up working out.

After they run through the typical setlist, STAR PLAN performs three encores, because they can. They wind it down with Steve sitting on the edge of the stage again. He’s kicking his feet against the wall underneath him. Holding the microphone right up against his mouth, Steve says, “Oklahoma City, it’s been real. Thank you for comin’ out tonight. We’ll see you soon.” He smiles towards the crowd, clambers to his feet, and darts off the stage. The rest of the band follows, waving at their fans as they go.

 

***

  **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

you were pretty cool tonight, OK city.

 ***

 

As soon as they’re done eating after the show, they all pile right onto the bus, and into their bunks. Steve steals a kiss once everyone else is gone, and whispers a goodnight before disappearing behind his own curtains. Bucky’s left smiling like a loon before he slips into his own bunk. It takes him an impressive five minutes before he’s out like a light.

Five minutes, forty-five minutes, or four hours later, Bucky wakes to his name, and a whispered, “Psst, are you awake?”

Bucky rolls over to face the curtain over his bunk, not quite fully awake. Was that Steve he just heard? Is he dreaming right now? He squints through the darkness, and tries to concentrate on the relative silence of the bus around him. Bucky doesn’t hear much of anything, other than the sound of the motor.

The curtains twitch.

“Steve?” Bucky says, quiet. He doesn’t want to wake anyone else on the bus, just in case he’s hearing things. There’s an off-chance this is just his subconscious playing with him at whatever time it is in the morning. His mind likes to play tricks on him sometimes. It’s happened before, those nights when he can’t sleep no matter how hard he tries.

The curtains are yanked backwards then, exposing Steve crouched down right in front of Bucky’s bunk. Bucky blinks at him, confused. He gets even more confused when Steve grins like the Cheshire cat, and squeezes himself into the bunk. He lays on top of Bucky, his small body fitting right between his legs. His chest is on top of Bucky’s stomach, a light weight that he can take without any discomfort. It’s a tight fit, but not as uncomfortable as Bucky would have thought.

“Steve?” Bucky repeats, hoping he gets an actual answer this time around. His brain feels fuzzy -- he’s having a hard time figuring out what’s going on. Waking up and being immediately on hasn’t been something he’s been good at since coming back from the war. Sleep is too precious these days. He shifts, just a little, trying to make room for the smaller man. “What time is it? What are you doing?”

“Shh, Buck,” Steve says, barely audible. He wiggles his way closer, his hips pressing down against Bucky’s in a very interesting way. It makes Bucky swallow a groan. He hasn’t...he hasn’t been touched or held anything remotely like this in years. Many, many years. It’s clouding his judgement a little. “I can’t sleep. I wanted...I wanted you.”

“You wanted...me?” Bucky repeats, unsure. Did he hear that right?

“God, so much,” Steve says, twisting a little to get his hand between them. He reaches right into Bucky’s pajama pants, no hesitation. Then he freezes, and slowly removes his hand from where it was. Bucky wants to reach down and put it back, but he waits. Just in case. Steve blinks up at Bucky, and asks, “Do you want...to?”

“Want to?” Bucky asks, confused again. God, he’s not good at this. He’s not good at this normally, when he’s awake and conscious. It’s even worse when his brain isn’t online yet. Bucky reaches out, and touches Steve right on the lower lip with his thumb. He yanks his vision away from the plump flesh of Steve’s mouth, and looks up at his eyes. “Yeah, I want to. I want… I want you to.” He has no idea what he’s agreeing to, but anything that involves Steve’s hands down his pants is more than fine with him.

“Are you sure? You… you wanted to go slow,” Steve says in a whisper, blue eyes dark in the dim light between them. He looks unsure, which is something Bucky’s not used to seeing on Steve. Steve is normally so confident, so ready to jump into just about anything. The only other time he’d looked even remotely unconfident was when he’d cornered him before their first kiss. Before they’d figured it out, but even then, _even then_ , Steve looked like he was going to fight Bucky into admitting that he liked him.

Bucky snorts at the reminder, and nods. He brushes his thumb back over Steve’s lip before answering just as softly, “Yeah. I _did_ , but you just had your hand down my pants, and now I don’t want to anymore.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, and has the gall to look apologetic. “Sorry, Buck. Are you mad? Do you want me to go?” There is nothing he wants less in the entire world than for Steve to leave now. He’d keep them both in here forever, if he had the ability.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I’m not mad, and I definitely don’t want you to leave. Stay right here.” He tugs Steve up by his ears and plants a thorough kiss on Steve’s lips. He licks his way in, and spends a moment enjoying the hot, wet heat of Steve’s mouth. Steve relaxes against him, but slowly gains control of the kiss. He turns it hot and needy, nipping at Bucky’s lower lip until he whines.

The weight on top of him shifts -- Steve rolls off a little, just enough to wiggle his hand back into Bucky’s pajama pants. He keeps between his pants and his boxers at first, the palm of his hand warm against Buck’s rapidly thickening cock. Bucky’s mouth falls open at the sensation, a loud breath escaping out of him in a rush. He wants Steve to move his hand, he wants skin on skin, he wants Steve’s mouth, he wants all of it at once.

“God, I want to look at you,” Steve says on a breath, tilting his face to mouth at the hinge of Bucky’s jaw. He sucks a mark into the skin there, a feeling that runs straight down Bucky’s back. It heads directly to his dick, pooling at the base of his spine in a warm, sticky sensation. His cock throbs underneath Steve’s hand.

“Too dark?” Bucky whispers back, unsure of exactly what Steve means.

“Too dark,” Steve says, setting his teeth on Bucky’s jaw again. He nips him there, and gives Bucky a long, soft squeeze inside his pajamas. Bucky swallows a moan at the last second, mindful of the sleeping people around them. Any little noise could wake one of them up. Being discovered like this is not something either of them want, Bucky’s sure of it. Steve repeats the squeeze, slow and steady, dragging long thin fingers up Bucky’s sensitive flesh. He whispers, “Turning on a light’s too risky, though.”

“Next time at a hotel,” Bucky promises, bringing his own hands up to slip them up the back of Steve’s shirt. His skin is warm and dry, and unbelievably soft. Bucky can only imagine what it must look like -- the pale snowy white of it usually hidden underneath Steve’s clothes. He runs his palms down Steve’s spine, feeling each and every vertebrae under his skin. He is so thin. “Next time, I promise. You can look all you want.”

Steve huffs a laugh right against Bucky’s neck. “I’ll hold you to that, mister,” Steve says, nibbling on him again. “Lift up?” he asks, soft. Bucky plants his feet, and tilts his hips upwards. Steve giggles softly, and quickly yanks down both Bucky’s boxers and pajama pants. His cock springs free, jutting upward obscenely. Steve wastes no time wrapping his hand around Bucky, jacking him quick, one two three.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky moans, slamming his eyes shut and tossing his head back. _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._ He’s never felt anything so good in his entire life. If this is just Steve touching him with just his hand, he can’t even imagine what it would be like to be inside Steve, to have Steve inside him.

“I want to try something,” Steve whispers, dragging his mouth across Bucky’s. He kisses him hard and brutal, and pulls back enough to smile at him. Bucky can just see the white of his teeth in the darkness. “Can I try something?”

“As long as you keep touching me, try anything you want,” Bucky says in a moan, moving his body against Steve’s in a slow roll. _Oh god._ That puts friction on all the right places. He repeats the motion, hoping that Steve gets the hint. He wants more, and he wants it right now, please and thank you.

Steve lets out a soft huff of laughter, leaning off Bucky enough to wiggle out of his own pajamas -- he gets them down around his knees and gives up. There’s really not enough room in the bunk for whatever they’re doing, but Steve is determined. Bucky’s right there along with him -- Steve started something and now they’re going to finish it, even if it means they bang their heads on the ceiling or someone’s leg falls out of the bunk.

Bucky maneuvers Steve into a better position on top of him, shifting him so he’s between his legs, small hips bracketed on each side by thick, muscular thighs. He slides both hands, metal and flesh, down Steve’s back, feeling the bump of each rib under his palms. Steve shivers again.

“Here,” Steve says, softly, and moves, pressing his hips down so their cocks drag together. His mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Touch me,” Bucky whispers, grinding his hips up towards Steve as he trails his hands down further to grab two handfuls of Steve’s ass. It’s rounder than he thought it would be, but it fits both of his hands perfectly. Steve falls forward again, setting his teeth to Bucky’s shoulder, biting down a mark on the curve of it. He hisses at the soft pain of it.

Steve adjusts himself, and in one smooth motion, grabs both of their cocks in one hand. A moan escapes Bucky before he can swallow it into silence. Fuck. He shuts his eyes tight, and tries not to drive his hips up, tries to let Steve have control over this. Bucky turns his head blindly towards Steve’s, and tilts his chin up, begging for a kiss. Steve grants him one, his mouth hot and heavy. They kiss, drag wet lips across wet lips, until Steve tightens his fist around them both, and slowly drags it up and over and then back down. It’s friction, finally, and Bucky quickly tucks his face into Steve’s neck, to pant against his skin. If he’s not careful, everyone on the bus will know exactly what they’re doing behind the curtain.

“You...I... _fuck,_ ” Bucky whispers, voice rough. He wishes he could see Steve right now, he wishes he could see how they look together in his hand. It’s too black in here, too completely dark to see anything but brief flashes of a thin shoulder, of the whites of Steve’s eyes, of the glint of his teeth as he bites down on Bucky’s skin.

“Mmhmm,” Steve answers, sounding stupidly proud of himself.  He quickens the pace of his hand, from a long, slow drag into something rougher and quicker. Bucky’s hips push upward of their own accord, chasing the friction, chasing the pleasure. This is going to be embarrassingly short. He’d worry about it, but there’s no space left in his head for anything other than more, yes, now, please.

“I’m not…” Bucky starts, unable to get the second half of the sentence out as a moan cuts off his words. Steve shakes his head, and presses another kiss against Bucky’s lips. They pull apart with a soft wet noise.

“It’s okay,” Steve says softly, his voice much deeper and rougher than usual. “It’s okay, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head this time, trying to swallow another moan. Instead, he bites down on Steve’s shoulder, sets his teeth into the pale skin there. It tastes like sweat, Steve’s skin, and Bucky wants more of it. He wants to lick him, wants to take him in his mouth, wants to chase every tattoo he has with his tongue. It’s too goddamn dark. There’s not enough room. He whines, in the very back of his throat, wishing they were in a hotel, in a regular sized bed, somewhere with space and light.

“I’m gonna take you apart once we have the room, I swear to God,” Steve says, reading Bucky’s mind. His fist moves all the faster now, rough and tight against their cocks. Bucky whines again, high and desperate, pushing his hips up and up. His orgasm is right behind his eyes, right there pressing against his spine, right there ready to overflow with the slightest of touches.

Steve must be close too, must be ready, as he turns and smashes their mouths together. Bucky groans into his mouth, sliding his tongue against Steve’s bottom lip. Steve lets out a gasp that turns into a long, drawn out moan. The rhythm he’s set is quickly turning into nonsense, into nothing at all as his fist moves faster and faster over them. Both of their hips are pressing up or down, hip bones digging into each other, and between one blink and the next, Steve comes with a soft, “Fuuuuuuuck.” The slide between them is slicker now, the drag smoother and quicker and it isn’t long before Bucky follows, making an even bigger mess on Steve’s hand.

Steve slows his hand to a stop, breathing rough. Bucky worries for a split second about his asthma, but the worry is brushed away as he catches a glint of Steve’s teeth -- he’s smiling.

“Uh huh,” Bucky says. He lets his head thump back against his pillow. His heart feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest, and his lungs are working overtime. It’s been too long since anything like this has happened to him. It’s been too goddamn long.

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “You got tissues in here?” Steve asks, real quiet.

Laughing, Bucky reaches towards the wall, where there’s a box shoved into a specially made divot. He grabs a handful, and reaches down to wipe them as clean as best he can. Wadding up the dirty tissues, he shoves them between mattress and wall, to get them out of the way until he can get to the trash.

“Here,” he says, grabbing more. He hands them to Steve, with a grin that neither one of them can really see.  Steve takes them, and sets to wiping his fingers and palm all dry. He hands the dirties back to Bucky, with a smirk. Bucky puts them where the others are, and tries to get situated. Sleep is starting to pull at his eyes, threatening to drag him under as soon as he’s comfortable enough. He’d really like Steve to stay, but knows that realistically he can’t -- the band would definitely start to ask questions if they saw Steve get out of Bucky’s bunk in the morning. And y’know, there’s not enough space for the both of them.

Steve lays back down on top of Bucky, a weight that he barely registers, carefully tucking his head under Bucky’s chin. His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to Bucky’s chest. It tickles as Steve shifts into a better spot. “You okay?” Steve asks, once he’s settled.

“‘Course,” Bucky says, with another huff of laughter. He leans down a bit, and kisses Steve’s hair. “Are you?”

He can feel Steve shake on top of him as he giggles. “Literally couldn’t be better, Buck.”

“Good,” Bucky says, on an exhale. “Good.”

 

***

  **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i miss my bed at home.

 ***

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL SHIT!!!! this is the beginning of the end, guys! in fact, you'll be getting the last THREE chapters this week. one today, one tomorrow, and one on saturday. if you want to binge read them, go ahead and wait til saturday, but if not, go ahead and start reading. i can't believe the journey this fic had taken me on, and i'm so so glad that you're here reading this. thank you guys so much. your comments and kudos mean the world!
> 
> few things:
> 
> • i commissioned [goandgetthegun](https://twitter.com/goandgetthegun) to do art for the fic: [here](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee/status/1131618438978392065?s=20). be sure to retweet and send a like her way! 
> 
> • if you'd like to see a series of pictures that inspired this fic, please look [here](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee/status/1128716267299463168?s=20).

 

 

 

Peggy pulls them all to the front of the bus as they rumble into Denver. They’re right on the edges of the city, buildings starting to get closer and closer together. Bucky’s been to Denver before, and while the views of the mountains are exquisite, he hadn’t particularly enjoyed his little trip to the city. This time around, Bucky’s on-the-edge-of-his-seat anxious about it.

“Alright you lot,” Peggy says, a huge smile on her face. She’s holding on to her ever-present clipboard. Bucky wonders, briefly, what the hell is on it. She’s got a tablet -- why wouldn’t she be planning everything on that? He’s torn out of his thoughts as she continues speaking. “We have a week in Denver. You have hotel rooms until Saturday, the day of the show. I’ll text you the timeline for the show the day before. Be safe, but have fun,” Peggy finishes up with another wide smile. The bus crawls to a stop, parked in front of a rather fancy-looking hotel. It looks more high-end than any of the other places they’ve stayed on this tour, all shiny surfaces, smooth edges and dark wood. Bucky now has serious hopes for the beds in their room -- maybe they’ll be more comfortable than all the others.

Peggy nods at them, and turns to step off the bus so she can check them into the hotel. Bucky watches her for a moment, catching Steve’s eyes as he glances back towards the group at hand. Steve waggles his eyebrows suggestively as soon as he has Bucky’s attention. A burst of laughter bubbles out of him at the sight -- he slaps a hand over his mouth to cover the sound. Natasha gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, but thankfully, doesn’t say anything.

It takes ten minutes for everything to get sorted, and then Peggy’s back holding a small stack of plastic hotel keys and a handful of brochures. She climbs back up the stairs and stands just before them, holding them out for them to take as they walk by. “We’re all up on the fourth floor, but the rooms aren’t together,” Peggy explains, just as Bucky walks by to take a set of keys. Steve hurries behind him, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Once they’re actually inside, Steve jogs towards the elevator and slams his palm over the button. There’s a soft chime noise, and the doors slide open to reveal the shiny walls of the interior of the elevator car. Bucky slips in behind Steve, moving to wedge himself in the corner.

“I’m gonna hold you to what you said, y’know,” Steve murmurs, reaching over to press the little round button labeled ‘4’. It lights up at his touch, and the doors rumble closed a few moments later.

Bucky stares at him, confused. The elevator slowly moves upward, sending his stomach swooping. Bucky’s always hated the way that feels, but it’s only four floors. It shouldn’t take that long.

Steve smirks at him, a twist of his lips that makes Bucky want to kiss him. Steve takes a few steps closer, full of swagger as he leans into Bucky’s personal space. Steve sets a thin, pale hand on Bucky’s chest, right over his heart. He says, “You said next time at a hotel. You said next time at a hotel, I could look all I wanted.”

For a split second, Bucky’s mouth drops open. He’d forgotten about that. He recovers with a soft breath, and says, “I _did_ say that.”

“Will you let me?” Steve asks, pressing a little harder with the hand on his chest. It’s a soft pressure, a reminder of the one Bucky had felt when it had been Steve’s entire body on top of him. Steve looks right into Bucky’s eyes, hopeful as he’s ever seen him. “Will you let me look at you?”

Bucky nods, and leans down to kiss Steve right on the mouth. Steve returns the kiss with more enthusiasm than is strictly necessary, considering their location. What if there’s a security camera in here? What if someone’s watching them? Bucky swallows his worry. “Yeah, yeah. You can look at me. But, um,” he says, laughing. “Maybe we should get into our room first?”

 

***

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i’m sleeping for a goddamn week til your show, denver.

***

 

Their room is right at the end of the hallway, overlooking the grand view of the parking lot. Not that either of them remotely care what’s outside the windows of their room. As far as Bucky’s concerned, they aren’t leaving this room for anything other than food and the show. That’s him being hopeful, anyway, and probably a little greedy, but whatever. Bucky’s had Steve’s hands on him now. He knows what that feels like, and only Steve himself telling him no is going to stop him from feeling it again. It was like some great _thing_ inside of him had awoke, and now that it was conscious, it wasn’t going to go back to sleep. Bucky wanted, he wanted so goddamn much, and he’d been so good about keeping it under control. But now neither one of them had to hold back. They had a hotel room for a solid week before the show. There was so much they could do with a week.

Bucky slaps the key card against the reader on the handle, waits for the light to blink green, and then shoves the door open. Bucky holds the door for Steve, waiting for him to hurry through before letting the door go. It closes itself slowly, sealing with a soft click.

The room itself isn’t particularly large, or particularly notable. It looks like just about every other room they’ve stayed in in the past two months. It has two queen beds, a nightstand in between, and a dresser on the opposite wall with a decently-sized TV on top of it. The bathroom is small, just like all the others have been. Then again, it could be a shack with three walls and half a roof, but as long as there was a bed, Bucky would be been fine with it.

“S’nice,” Steve says, looking around. He drops his bag on the far bed, and moves around the room slowly, letting his fingertips drag along the walls or furniture as he walks by. Brushing by Bucky, Steve lets his hand drag along Bucky’s side as he passes. It’s aggravatingly not enough. Bucky turns to follow Steve’s movement, hoping that he’ll come back and put his hands all over him instead.

“It’s a room,” Bucky says, with a shrug and a flat voice. It’ll do for what they’re going to be using it for.

When Steve just continues walking around the room, like it’s somehow big enough for that, Bucky lets out a huff of frustration. They’re finally somewhere they can touch without having to hide, and Steve is doing literally everything but touching him. It’s a crime. It’s a _travesty_.

“Come here, wouldya?” Bucky says, real soft.

Steve lifts his head from studying the cheap, bland art on the wall, and grins at Bucky, wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat. “Yes?” he says, raising both eyebrows.

“Come here, _please_?” Bucky repeats, flashing what he hopes are puppy-dog eyes. He holds his hand out for Steve, and Steve closes the distance between them, grabbing Bucky’s hand as he moves.

“Did you want something?” Steve teases, turning his face up towards Bucky’s as he slips his arms around Bucky’s waist.

“Many somethings,” Bucky answers, with a smile. He leans down and presses his lips against Steve’s in a soft kiss. He pulls away just far enough to say, “Many, many somethings. But maybe we just start right here?”

Steve surges up onto his tiptoes to turn the kiss into something decidedly less innocent. He moves one arm, winding it around Bucky’s neck, to keep him within reach. It occurs to Bucky that he could sit down on the bed, could make it so they were on a level playing field. But that would mean that he’d have to move, and there’s not much that would make him pull away from Steve’s mouth right about now.

But then Steve moves back, and looks up at him with dark eyes and red, red lips. “Sit down,” he orders in a rough voice as he points at the bed behind them. Bucky blinks at him, momentarily confused (and oddly aroused) at the sudden military-like command. He recovers quickly, lowers himself to the edge of the mattress, plants his feet firmly on the ground, and opens his legs, looking up at Steve for another possible order.

Instead, Steve toes off his shoes, and climbs up into Bucky’s lap. It takes a little wiggling, and a little help from Bucky, but Steve straddles him, thin thighs on either side of his own. Like this they’re finally face to face, without anyone having to stretch or hunch to reach each other’s mouths. It’s good, it’s great, it’s...Bucky can finally see just how fucking gorgeous Steve’s eyes are up close. He stares at them for a split second, in awe of just how blue they really are. They’re like the sky on a clear summer’s day, like the color of the ocean in the tropics, like every beautiful blue thing Bucky’s ever seen in his entire life. If he were better with words, he’d tell Steve, but he’s not a poet or a writer. He’s just...Bucky.

Steve smiles slowly, eyes searching Bucky’s face, before he kisses him solidly. Bucky opens his mouth to him, and is lost to the wet, warm heat of Steve. They’ve kissed before, they’ve kissed loads of times now, but this is different. This is private, this is special. Here they don’t have to worry about anyone walking in, anyone overhearing or interrupting them as they go. Here they can take as long as they want. Here, here they can be.

Bucky hooks his metal fingers on the belt loops of Steve’s jeans, not trusting himself to be gentle with the machinery of his left arm. It’s stronger than he’d like, especially when Steve is so very breakable. He’ll keep his hand there, on Steve’s clothes instead of his body so he doesn’t hurt him. His _other_ hand, though, Bucky uses to tilt Steve’s head back so he can kiss him all the more thoroughly. He licks into Steve’s mouth, taking control of the kiss long enough to get a soft moan from him. Arousal tugs at him from deep inside, slowly making itself more and more known. He’s sporting a semi, jeans just starting to be uncomfortably tight. He can’t imagine how Steve’s jeans must feel on him -- they’re about three times as tight as Bucky’s are normally. Blood flow might seriously become a problem.

Bucky pulls away, reverting his thoughts to the man on his lap, nibbling his way down Steve’s neck and setting his teeth into the long tendon there. It gets him a hiss from Steve, but there’s no audible complaint, so he keeps biting, keeps going down and down. Bucky uses his nose to nudge Steve’s shirt out of the way, and mouths at the pale skin he reveals underneath. Steve sinks his fingers into Bucky’s hair, yanking at the hair tie to tug it all lose. Brown locks tumble forward, falling to frame Bucky’s face. Steve takes two great handfuls, and uses it to hold himself steady as Bucky sucks a deep mark onto his collarbone. His hips stutter forward, grinding against Bucky’s as he stretches his neck back so there’s more room.

“You wanna take my shirt off?” Steve asks, breathlessly.

Bucky doesn’t even bother with an answer. He detaches himself from Steve, leans back, and with one solid yank, brings Steve’s shirt up and over his head. He tosses it behind him, not caring where it happens to land. Steve’s now shirtless, sitting on his lap, face and mouth both a bright beautiful red. He puts both of his arms back around Bucky’s neck, forearms resting on his massive shoulders. Steve leans backwards, showing himself off completely unselfconsciously.

He’s thin, is the first real thing that Bucky notices. Each rib is clearly visible. The second is all the gorgeous, smooth skin that’s suddenly on view. Steve is almost hairless, whether by razor or genetics Bucky doesn’t know, but there is a small treasure trail of honey-golden hair leading downward from below his belly button. Bucky desperately wants to follow it with his fingers, his mouth, with his own cock. He tears his eyes away, and keeps looking his fill elsewhere. He’s allowed to, now. Steve’s not going to judge him. The third thing he sees is all the bright, colorful ink dotted around Steve’s body. The chest piece alone makes Bucky salivate, but there’s more than just that. There’s a tiny black heart on his left shoulder, barely bigger than a pencil eraser. There are two little nautical-style swallows tattooed on the inside of Steve’s hip bones. They’re barely three inches wide, but the color is saturated beyond belief. They must be relatively new. Bucky runs his thumbs over both of them, a quick soft swipe.

“So?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky answers. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous.” He takes another breath, and then smashes his mouth against Steve’s once more.

 

***

 

Steve insists that they both shower before they do anything further. They’ve been in the bus for a day and some change -- a shower is necessary at this point. But much to Bucky’s disapproval, they shower separately. Steve says it’s to keep some things for later, for when they can both be naked on something horizontal and soft. Bucky reluctantly agrees, but ends up rushing through his own shower regardless. Outside the bathroom there’s a Steve that’s all his, that’s probably only wearing minimal clothing. They’re just going to take it all off, anyway. Why bother getting completely re-dressed? Bucky isn’t going to. At most he’s putting his boxers on. Maybe his shirt, just so Steve can have the chance to take it off, if he wants.

Once he’s out of the shower, Bucky dries his hair as best he can with a towel, and then yanks a comb through it. He ties it back in another bun, so it’s out of the way, and then stares at himself in the mirror. Should he shave? Make it so Steve was less likely to get beard burn? He runs a hand over his jaw, uncertain. He could ask, but...no, no he’ll ask. He doesn’t want to ruin this in any way whatsoever.

Bucky opens the door just a crack, and yells out into the room. “You want me to shave?”

“Your face? _No_ ,” Steve answers, immediately. He sounds nearby, so maybe he’s right there on the bed. “Everywhere else, I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Bucky says back, closing the door again. He leaves his meager beard alone, but uses a disposable razor to at least trim everywhere else. Just in case. He has no idea what they’re going to get up to tonight. Sure, Bucky has ideas, but the actuality of the night might be a little different. So...he trims. He brushes his teeth, too, and then stares at himself some more. He’s not...bad looking. Not as good looking as he used to be, back when he was young and cocky, but his face is still nice. A little more lined, sure, but Steve clearly likes it, right?

“The hell are you doing in there, Buck?” Steve asks, voice sounding like he’s just on the other side of the door. “C’mon, you already know I love how you look, just… come out here?”

Bucky blinks at his reflection, and throws on his shirt again. Maybe he’s not quite ready for Steve to see all his scars. Not at this exact moment, anyway. He’d rather Steve have the choice, he thinks. They’re kind of a downer, and well, Bucky wants nothing more than for this week to be happy. Just completely, and totally happy. With a sigh, Bucky opens the door.

Sure enough, Steve’s right there looking concerned in nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs. Bucky stares. A little. Okay, fine, _a lot_ , but can you blame him?

“You okay?” Steve asks, both eyebrows high on his face. He reaches out with one hand, and rests it on Bucky’s right shoulder.

Bucky nods, shrugs. “Just… nervous, I guess?"

Steve smiles, affectionate. He pokes Bucky in the stomach softly. “Why? It’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you. Not unless you ask,” Steve says, joking. He grins, and adds, “And even then, you’d have to sound like you really wanted it.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose at him, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’d be into that.” He’s been through enough pain in his life, thanks. There’s no way it would ever turn him on, no matter who was causing it. Bucky would much rather just feel _good_ all the way down to his toes, thanks.

“Then, you don’t gotta worry, alright?” Steve says, moving closer. He goes up onto his tip-toes again, and kisses Bucky soft on the cheek. His lips are dry, and cool against his skin. Bucky leans down and kisses him properly on the lips, pulling back to smile at him.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Okay.”

 

***

 

They end up on one of the beds once they’re both showered, just laying on top of the itchy hotel coverlet. Steve’s turned the TV on, but neither one of them are really paying attention to what’s on the screen. It’s more just for noise in the background as they talk.

“So,” Steve says, twisting slightly to look up at Bucky’s face. There’s a small smirk on his lips.

Bucky raises one eyebrow at him. “So?” He has a vague idea of where this is going, and while it _is_ in a direction that he wants, Bucky doesn’t like _talking_ about it. He’d much rather just do, y’know? Being active towards a goal is easier than talking about said goal. But Steve’s looking at him like that with those eyes, and that means Bucky will give him whatever he wants.

“How do you want me?” Steve asks, eyes sparkling. He reaches over towards Bucky’s lap, and runs a fire-hot hand right over his cock. It stiffens up further at the touch. “Underneath you? From behind? Me on top?”

Bucky blinks, taken by surprise. Steve prefers bottoming? That...that doesn’t seem right. Not after everything he knows about Steve. He’d thought, if anything, he’d be a switch. Squinting at Steve, he studies his face for a moment before giving an answer. “I…” Bucky starts, looking away for a moment. It’s easier that way. “I thought maybe you could do me?”

There’s a surprised noise to his left -- clearly Steve hadn’t expected that answer. Bucky turns just a little to look back at him, chewing on his lip. Steve’s looking at him in a whole new light, studying  him with wide eyes. “I mean, you… you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Bucky says, slowly, now unsure.

“No, I… I’d love to. I mean it, I just thought that… well everyone I’ve ever been with always thought that I wanted to bottom…” Steve says, looking a little faintly annoyed, hopefully with himself. Bucky would be devastated if something went wrong tonight. Bucky’s been looking forward to this for...well for a long, long time. “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed anything about you, right?”

Bucky closes his eyes, laughing softly. “No, no you shouldn’t have,” he says, kinda quietly. Then he grins, and adds in a joking tone, “Honestly, you shoulda known better, Stevie.”

Steve nods back, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright.” He leans into Bucky, pressing his lips to his cheek. Bucky accepts the apology with a smile. Steve continues, saying, “I’m sorry, Buck. I am. I… I’d love to top.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, double checking his face for any hint of hesitation. The only thing he finds is arousal and yearning in dark eyes.

Steve licks his lips as Bucky watches, his eyes dipping down towards Bucky’s mouth. He nods, worming his way into Bucky’s lap. Bucky moves his arms so Steve can straddle him, one leg on either side of Bucky’s hips. He hooks his arms over Bucky’s shoulders, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Bucky returns it, pressing a little harder, tilting his head into it.

They pull away after a moment, the need for air bigger than their need for each other. Bucky breathes deeply, his forehead against Steve’s. “Do we have stuff?” he asks, feeling a little sheepish. He certainly didn’t bring anything like that with him. Bucky knew himself too well to hope for any chance of having sex while on tour. Guess he was proving himself wrong tonight.

Steve raises his eyebrows, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “You mean lube? Condoms? Yeah. In my bag.” He nods towards the other bed, where the duffel sits on top of the comforter.

Bucky blinks at him, and then narrows his eyes. He’s not sure how he feels about that, really. Sure, Steve’s his own man, and when they started this tour, they hadn’t even really talked to each other. He has absolutely zero claim on the man. But did the fact that he brought all that stuff mean he was hoping to get lucky sometime on the tour? Was Steve the type for one-night stands? Bucky pushes the thought of out of his head forcefully. It doesn’t matter. Steve’s his now. He’d never cheat on Bucky, he’s sure of it. It doesn’t matter what he did in the past. With an almost forced laugh, Bucky asks, “You always pack those on tour with you?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Actually, yeah, but this time I brought more? I was...hopeful. About you.”

Bucky beams at him, pulling back enough to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “You were clearly more hopeful about our chances that I was.”

“Eh. Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, with a mirroring huge grin. They look at each other for a moment, just grinning like two idiots. God, how lucky is Bucky, that he’s here right now? With Steve on his lap, mostly naked? What happened to his life, that this is something he gets to have? He runs his hands, metal and flesh up Steve’s ribs, and then back down again. He pulls his hands away, only to replace them on Steve’s thighs, sliding them up towards his very obviously tented boxer-briefs. Bucky, suddenly brave, runs the tips of his fingers over Steve’s cock. Steve’s mouth opens just slightly.

He leans backwards, tugging softly at Bucky’s shirt. “Can I see you? Please?”

A jolt of anxiety runs straight down Bucky’s spine. He can’t get out of this, not after he told Steve that he could see him. And, and well, there’s a part of him that wants Steve to see. He looks away from Steve before saying, “Um. Yeah...but…but there’s scarring. A… lot of it. Right around the arm.”

“Oh,” Steve says, immediately. He lightens up on the tugging. “I… I don’t mind, Buck. They don’t hurt you, do they?”

Bucky shakes his head, right away. “No, no not anymore. It’s just ugly.”

“I bet they aren’t as bad as you think,” Steve says, comforting.

“Well, um,” Bucky says, making a face. “I’ll let you be the judge, I guess.” He surges forward just enough that he can get his fingers on the hem of his shirt. He whips it up and over his head, tosses it towards the other bed, and then leans back onto the pillows.

Steve’s eyes go wide, and he reaches out to touch Bucky’s chest. He’s speechless for a moment, and Bucky fears the worst. It’s too awful, too ugly. He closes his eyes, and tries not to go to pieces. He’d been so damn hopeful that Steve would be able to look past it, but of course not. Of course not.

“It’s okay, we don't have to do anything anymore, I understand,” Bucky says, his eyes still shut. How’s he going to get over this? He’s...he’s gonna have to call Sam, maybe. Or his therapist. This is...this is not great for his mental health.

“What?” Steve says, quiet. His ups his volume as he says, “ _What?_ Buck, are you serious? Look at you.”

“I know. It’s bad.”

“No, are you _kidding_? You gotta be kidding. Jesus Christ, Bucky. You’re _gorgeous._ ”

That makes Bucky open his eyes. Sure enough Steve’s staring at him like he’s good enough to eat.

“You...you don’t care?”

Steve glares at him. “Care? Bucky, I… yes, you’re scarred. But it’s not bad. It really isn’t. And it doesn’t detract from all this.” Steve pauses to gesture to all of him. “Not even a little. So, quit...quit talkin’ bad about yourself, okay? I want this. I want all of this.”

Bucky stares at him, unsure, but Steve rolls his hips into his, and smashes his mouth against Bucky’s. That’s that, then, he thinks. It’s true. What Steve said, he meant it. He returns Steve’s kiss feverishly, trying to climb right inside his mouth with his tongue.

They make out like teenagers just discovering what kissing is, until Steve yanks himself away, red in the face. “C’mon, I want...I want. Clothes off?” he says, sounding like a slightly confused caveman. He rolls off of Bucky, and without any ceremony at all, tugs his own boxers off. He rolls back towards Bucky, and pulls on his just enough for them to move about an inch downwards. “Please?” he asks, looking up with huge blue eyes.

Bucky lift his hips and nods, letting Steve pull them all the way off. He tosses them at the other bed. When he looks back, Steve’s staring at him, mouth open.

“Jesus, Buck. You’re…”

Bucky feels himself blush. “I’m what?”

Steve doesn’t finish that sentence, instead starting an entirely different one. “I want to do everything to you. I want you to do everything to me. I wanna spend the next five days not moving from this bed, you hear me?”

Bucky snorts, nodding. He feels the same way.

 

***

 

“If you don’t get inside me right now, I’m gonna kill you,” Bucky pants, thrusting his hips down towards Steve’s fingers. He’s three deep, twisting his wrist in the nicest way. Steve’s been teasing him for the past five minutes, dragging things out much longer than they need to be. He’s ready. He’s been ready -- Steve had insisted upon the third finger, claiming that he didn’t want to hurt him. Bucky’s sure it was more along the lines of making him really _, really_ want it. It’s worked, because he’s riding a very thin line of not enough, and _just_ enough. If Steve keeps this up, he’s going to come on just his fingers. “Steve, I swear,” Bucky says, in a low growl.

Steve snickers from between his legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s thigh. With a soft wet noise, he slowly pulls his fingers out, and then tosses a condom towards Bucky. It lands on his chest with a soft _smack_. “Open that?” Steve asks, reaching for the bottle of lube again. Bucky does as he’s told, hurriedly ripping the foil and holding it out with shaking hands. Steve takes it, and after flicking his eyes up towards Bucky, rolls it on himself. “You sure...you’re sure you want it like this?” Steve asks, nodding towards his body.

Bucky glares at him again, panting. “If you don’t…”

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, laughing. He moves, adjusting himself so he’s kneeling between Bucky’s thick thighs. He smiles up at him, love clear in his eyes. “C’mere, I want to kiss you,” Steve says, leaning forward with a hand on Bucky’s chest, so he can press his mouth to Bucky’s. He kisses back, a pleased noise escaping from between his lips.

Steve pushes off him, and starts lining himself up, looking down between them with his mouth open. He looks back up at Buck, and with a grin, slowly starts to push inside.

It’s like a fire ignites inside him. A slow smolder builds to a forest fire, burning bright behind his eyes. Steve is not huge, but is instead just enough. The stretch is minimal considering their prep, but Steve keeps pushing in, and in, until he bottoms out with a moan. Steve tosses his head backwards, grinding his hips against Bucky’s.

“Fuck,” he says, mostly in another moan. “ _Fuck_.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky says, slamming his eyes shut. It’s been eons since he’s been laid. Actual geologic ages. Bucky can’t even remember what season it was the last he got any. Not that it matters -- Steve’s starting to do a good job of fucking him right through the mattress. He grunts, and says, “Please move?”

Steve pulls back, and in a rush of breath, snaps his hips forward. Bucky’s mouth falls open. “Again, do that again,” he whines, reaching out with both hands to grab at Steve’s ass. He gets his wish -- Steve pulls back, repeating the same motion as before. He falls forward, slapping his hands onto the mattress either side of Bucky’s shoulders.

“Fast?” Steve asks, nipping at Bucky’s chest.

“Fuck, please? Please, Steve, please.”

Steve doesn’t bother with an answer, but builds up the rhythm to something fast and unrelentless. Bucky’s eyes close of their own accord again, and he chews on his lip to avoid biting through Steve’s skin. The sound of Steve’s hips and thighs smacking against his own fills the air -- it’s all he hears despite their heavy breathing. Steve slides his mouth across Bucky’s pecs, tilting his hips just enough to change the angle. Bucky sucks in a breath, whining. “Again,” he begs, scrabbling at Steve’s shoulders with his hands.

This is (once again) going to be embarrassingly short. He’s just...it’s been too long. It’s been too damn long, and he loves Steve so goddamn much and it’s so much. Everything is so much. The way Steve’s cock drags inside him, the way Steve’s clinging to him with one hand, the way he feels the fire rage inside him, deep. It’s all pushing him forward, over that all-encompassing edge.

“You...I…” Bucky fumbles with his words, dragging his short nails down Steve’s back. “I’m gonna…”

“Do it, do it, Buck, whenever, I swear to God, I…” Steve mumbles, up against his sweat-soaked skin.

Bucky whines, high in the back of his throat and starts shoving into Steve to meet him thrust for thrust. Steve grabs at him, howling. “Jesus, Bucky,” he groans, slamming into him again and again. “Fuck.”

Steve shifts again, breaking the rhythm slightly so he can lick his way into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky groans into the kiss, wrapping a leg around Steve’s hip. “C’mon, please,” Bucky whispers, knocking his cheek against Steve’s face. Steve plants himself on the mattress, and picks the pace up even further. There’s not much of a rhythm anymore, just thrust after thrust after thrust. Bucky feels the fire explode inside him, blasting him right into his orgasm. He cries out a moan, slapping his hands flat against Steve’s back as he spills between them.

Steve gasps, and grinds against Bucky. After a moment, he pulls back, and slams into him again. And again, and again, and again and then finally, with a loud cry, Steve comes. He circles his hips once more, and then falls forward, trusting Bucky to catch him.

“St-Steve,” Bucky says, in a rough voice. He clears his voice, and tries again. “Steve.”

“Buck?”

Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, and tucks his face into Steve’s hair. Steve nods, laughing softly. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah.”

They lay pressed together, sweat-slick and sticky, for a while. Slowly, Steve peels away from Bucky and goes to clean up. He comes back with a wet cloth, and cleans Bucky up, too. It doesn’t take long after that for them to end up in the same position they started in, piled on top of one another.

They sleep, and start again the next day.

 

***

 **stevie rogers 🏳️‍🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

😴 

***

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

 

“We need to tell the band,” Steve says, from his side of the bed. He’s laying on his stomach, wearing nothing but the top sheet. It’s pulled low over his hips so it covers all the interesting bits. The sight makes Bucky want to tug on it just slightly, to reveal all that beautiful skin underneath. Instead, he rolls onto his side so he can get a better view of Steve the way he is. They might have already gone two rounds today, and he’s sore all over, but he’s willing to try for a third.

“Hmm?” Bucky says, having not quite heard what Steve had said. It’s hard to concentrate when your boyfriend is sex-rumpled, and covered in hickies that you gave him. He reaches out and runs a fingertip down the dip of Steve’s back. Steve shivers.

“The band? We need to tell them about us,” Steve says, scrunching his face up as Bucky moves his finger back up, and then down his skin again. Another shiver racks his body, and he twitches away, trying to avoid Bucky’s touch. “Stop that, it tickles.”

“Why do you think I’m doing it?” Bucky whispers, laughing. Steve glares at him, so he stops and pulls his hand back towards himself. He smiles at Steve for a moment, happy and content, before addressing Steve’s topic. “You think they don’t know already?”

Steve makes another face, considering. Letting out a sigh, he says, “I don’t know, actually.” He reaches out, and tugs on Bucky’s hand, moving it to his shoulder. Bucky scoots closer, and gently runs his palm over Steve’s sweat-cool skin. This earns him a sweet smile from Steve, who sets his own hand on Bucky’s cheek for a moment. Bucky turns his face into it, pressing a kiss into Steve’s skin. Steve pulls it back and then says, “I think Natasha might.”

“She does. To an extent, anyway. You know she gave me the shovel talk?”

Steve pulls back, and stares at Bucky for a moment, looking utterly confused. “She _what_?”

Bucky laughs, actually tosses his head back and _laughs_. “She cornered me after the New Orleans show, and basically said that if I hurt you, she’d end me.”

“She said that she’d end you?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. “That seems very straightforward for her.”

“Well, it might not have been that exactly, but it was close enough,” Bucky says, with a roll of his eyes. He settles his hand onto Steve’s lower back, sneaking the tips of his fingers under the sheet. He can just feel the top of the crack of Steve’s ass, but keeps his hand exactly where it is. A reminder, but not quite initiating anything. Not yet, anyway.

Steve gives him a look with a capital L, like he knows exactly what Bucky’s doing, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves quick like a flash of lightning, pushing Bucky onto his back with a shove to his shoulder, and climbing on top of him to straddle him. There’s a lot of skin against skin now, making it much harder to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

Bucky finds himself on his back, looking up at Steve with wide eyes. Steve leans down, planting both hands on either side of Bucky’s head. Bucky is bracketed with the colorful tattoos on Steve’s arms -- he follows the line of them up until he sees Steve’s face. He looks pleased with himself for the rapid change in position, moving forward some more. “Before we start anything, mister, are you okay if we tell the band?” Steve says, face inches away from Bucky’s.

Bucky’s eyes dart down to Steve’s mouth, wet and pink, then back up to his electric blue eyes. “Yeah, I want them to know,” Bucky says, a smirk pulling at his lips. If they know, then he can finally kiss Steve whenever he wants. He can haul him into his lap for a hug, can hold his hand in public without anyone giving them confused looks. Bucky is pretty sure most of them have at least an inkling that there might be something between them, but other than Natasha, he hasn’t gotten hints from anyone else that they approve.

With a full laugh, Steve leans down and licks his way into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky tilts his head back, to give Steve better access, kissing him for all he’s worth.

 

***

 

“So,” Steve announces, once everyone is seated at the table. They’re at a Mexican restaurant (again), waiting for their food to arrive. Bucky’s about three sips into a strawberry margarita, and Steve’s got a huge blue fish bowl daiquiri in front of him. Bucky’s 90% sure that he’ll be finishing it for Steve, as the entire thing is literally bigger than Steve’s head. It’ll really be something if he manages to even get halfway through it. Without another word, Steve pulls himself out of his seat, and stands at the head of the table.

“So?” Thor says, his own drink halfway up to his mouth. He’s drinking from an enormous beer glass, half of it already drained. “You have an announcement?”

“I… we do,” Steve confirms, eyes darting down to look at Bucky by way of confirmation. Bucky nods at him, lips around the fancy umbrella straw. He takes a huge sip, and gets a mouthful of strawberry tequila goodness. He got sugar around the rim because it’s sweeter that way -- he swipes his finger through it and then sticks his finger in his mouth. Mmm.

“What sorta announcement?” Clint asks, hand all the way in the bowl of chips. He has at least three in his mouth, squirreled away in his cheek while he talks. Natasha glares at him for a solid second, but her face dissolves into affection suspiciously quickly. She hides it by dipping her own chip into the salsa and crunching down on it.

“Um, well,” Steve says, having a hard time controlling his smile.  He takes a soft breath, and then proclaims, “Well, Bucky and I are a couple. We’re dating. Officially.”

Everyone just blinks at him. There’s no gasp of surprise, no shocked faces. Everyone just continues doing what they’re doing. Natasha’s face is still supernaturally blank. Clint’s cheeks are too distorted by a multitude of chewed chips to see any particular facial expression. Peggy’s eyebrows have raised a fraction of an inch, but otherwise she doesn’t look surprised. Thor takes a loud slurp of his beer.

“We figured,” he says, with a shrug of one massive shoulder.

Steve’s face scrunches up, and looks more than a little frustrated with the situation. He’d been all excited to see what their faces would look like when he told him. This has to be more than a little disappointing. “What! _How_?”

“Well, darling, you weren’t exactly subtle,” Peggy says, with a quirk of her very red lips. “We didn’t see you kiss or hold hands or anything, but the way you _looked_ at each other…”

“You were obvious, Rogers,” Clint says, after managing to swallow his squirreled-away food. He rolls his hand in the air, like he’s trying to hurry someone’s speech on, and then waves at his own face. “Like real obvious. You aren’t good at lying with your face.”

Steve stomps his foot a little, looking for the entire world like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. He throws himself backwards back into his chair, grabs at his fish bowl daiquiri and takes a large, loud sip.

Bucky can’t help it. He snickers behind his hand, shaking his head. Both of them had been so careful, and for what? No good reason, apparently. There’d been anxiety and worry over no one knowing -- they’d wanted to be sure everyone found out on their terms, when _they_ picked, but none of that mattered. They’d been so goddamn twitterpated with one another, everyone could read it on their faces. Another giggles washes through him.

“No one objects, by the way,” Natasha says, chip paused halfway to her mouth. “You’re good for each other.”

Steve takes another sip of his drink and leans back in his chair. “Oh, as long as we’re good for each other,” he says, with half a laugh. The frustration seems to wash out of him with another breath. Steve laughs, and shakes his head before saying, “Glad you approve, Nat.”

Natasha grants him a short, but real smile before chomping down on her chip.

“We’re glad he has you, Bucky,” Peggy says from her seat beside him. “He’ll let you take care of him --”

“I let you guys take care of me!” Steve says, outraged.

Every single person at the table groans and rolls their eyes.

 

***

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

two more shows and the patriot tour is over.

two. more. shows.

***

 

“So, Bucky,” Peggy says, after most of their plates are empty. Everyone is overly full, but still picking at the remainders of chips and salsa on the table. It’s hard not to with how good everything was. “What’d you think of touring with us?”

Bucky blinks, a little taken aback by the question. “Uh,” he says, frowning a little while he tries to come up with a cohesive answer on the spot. He’s not good at thinking on his feet anymore, but he tries it regardless. “I like it,” he says, a little dumbly. “I mean, it was kind of a leap of faith, right? I could have hated every single one of you, but I don’t. We get along, and I haven’t had this kind of...friendship? Camaraderie? In a long, long time.” Bucky pauses, and chews on his lip while he thinks some more. He takes a breath, and continues, “And, to be honest? I don’t...know what I’m gonna do at home, now.”

Peggy smiles at him, a wonderfully happy smile that shows all of her perfect teeth. She reaches out to touch him gently on the arm before saying, “You’ll come hang out with us, of course?”

It’s not _really_ what he meant, but he does appreciate the gesture. He smiles and nods back at her, feeling pretty content in the moment. Bucky’s more worried about what he’s going to do with all his time. The band doesn’t need a security guard when they’re at home, and he doesn’t really want to work retail or anything that requires a _lot_ of people pleasing. Maybe he’ll take up a hobby, or hell, maybe he’ll finally go back to school. Maybe he’ll get an actual degree.

“Yeah, you aren’t gettin’ rid of us that easy, Barnes,” Natasha says, with something more akin to a smirk. She pokes a finger at him, and then gestures to Steve’s small form. “I gotta make sure you’re treatin’ my foster brother right.”

Steve snorts. He got, just as predicted, about half-way through his daiquiri and then pushed it towards Bucky. Bucky’s a little more tipsy than he’d prefer, due to said drinks, but it’s a pleasant buzz through his blood. Nothing more than that. He’s surrounded by friends, and Steve’s right here. Nothing bad is going to happen. He can float on this feeling for awhile, until it peters out of his system.

“Would you tour with us again?” Thor asks, half-asleep at his chair. He’s leaning back in it, both hands folded over his flat stomach. “Like, next time we go out?”

This Bucky can answer immediately, and without question.

“Absolutely.”

 

***

 **clint** _@pizzapizzap1zza_ **✔**

vegas, we are in you.

***

 

The Vegas show is, understandably, a little wild. The venue supplies massive blow-up toys that float around the audience as the band performs. A rainbow beach ball bounces off Bucky’s face about halfway through the show, but he just wings it back towards the crowd. It’s a beach ball, after all not a baseball bat. It’s not like it hurts. The crowd is louder here than any of the other shows, for reasons he can’t quite figure out. But it’s fun, watching the sea of faces move as they dance and sing along to the band.

“You’re our second to last show, Vegas, and lemme tell ya, you aren’t disappointing!” Steve shouts, landing a running kick to shoot another beach ball back into the audience. It hits a girl square in the face, and Steve winces. “Sorry about that, you okay?” She nods, and throws a thumbs up into the air. Steve mimics her, and with a bounce, starts right in on the next song.

Everyone dances on stage, gliding back and forth as they play through their set list. It’s a fun show all around, fun to be behind the barricade, and from what Bucky can tell, fun to be in the crowd. Steve sounds at the top of his game, voice pure and perfect as he croons the lyrics right into his microphone. Bucky sincerely hopes that he gets to watch from the crowd one day, gets to see Steve perform an entire show without having his back to him the whole time. It’d be a treat, he thinks, not to mention incredibly arousing. Probably best if he doesn’t pop a boner when he’s supposed to be at work.

When STAR PLAN hits the second-to-last encore song, Steve hauls everything to a halt. Thor starts up a soft rhythm behind him, but Steve stands still on the edge of the stage. “This tour has been a fuckin’ blast, guys. I can’t thank you and all your friends enough for comin’ out for us tonight. You make us what we are. Just remember that. Without you guys, we’re nothin’,” Steve says, with a huge grin. Bucky turns just slightly so he can see his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. Steve screws up his face at a girl right at the front who’s holding her phone up towards him for a picture. Bucky watches as the flash goes off, and laughs. “Alright, you all ready to finish this one out? One more song, you gonna help me sing it?”

The crowd screams in assent. Steve’s smile grows, and the band starts up the beat to _Livin’_. Darting to the edge of the stage, Steve shouts the words to the song towards the crowd, and then points his mic at them.  

Steve sings maybe seventy percent of the lyrics, while the fans pick up the rest. At the end, the lights behind Clint’s kit flash a million times, cycling through all the colors rapidly, and the noise ramps up even louder. The band waves at all their fans, and slowly walk off stage, exhausted but happy.

Before they leave the venue for the night, Steve deflates and steals a beach ball.

 

***

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

LA, you are our last show on the patriot tour.

you ready for us?

***

 

The idea of the last show is both exciting, and anxiety inducing. This is _it_. After this, they head home, back to New York. Bucky’s not quite sure how he feels about it yet. There’s some parts of him that are pleased to be going back to his home state after two months away, but then again… once he goes home, what the hell is gonna do with all his free time? It’s not like he has another job lined up after this. And it’s not like he had a whole lot going on in his life before STAR PLAN, either. Bucky was lonely, and miserable, and he knew it. Terror is slowly filling him at the thought of going back to that. It is a slow gas leak of fear in his head, and he isn’t sure what to do to fix it.

As soon as the bus crosses the California border, the band starts to become a little antsy, bouncing around the bus. None of them know what to do with themselves. They could play Xbox, they could finish out _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ , or they could play board games, but none of the options seem to really _click_ with any of them. When all the whining becomes too much, Natasha sits them all down and forces them to watch shitty disaster movies with her.

They make it through two and half movies before they pull into the hotel parking lot. After that, they disperse into their own rooms until the show. No one asks to watch the rest of the last movie.

“You nervous at all?” Bucky asks Steve, as they push into their own room. It’s just like all the others. Boring, and beige.

“Nah,” Steve says, flashing a smile over his shoulder towards Bucky. He tosses his bag on the far bed, and flops onto the closer one. “I’ve done this enough that nerves don’t even factor into it anymore, y’know? I don’t to be, um, egotistical, but I’m pretty good at my job. I don’t get nervous about it, because it’s just...second nature now, I guess.”

Bucky watches him with a fond look on his face. He joins him, laying down on the bed instead of throwing himself bodily at it. If he copied Steve in that way, Steve would go flying off the bed. He moves just enough so he can press a kiss to Steve’s messy hair. “Not even for the last show of the tour?”

Steve rolls towards him, curling himself around Bucky’s side. He tucks his face into Bucky’s shoulder, and shakes his head. “No, it’s just like any other show really. Are _you_ nervous?”

Bucky considers this. Is he? Maybe a little. Maybe for all the reasons he’s been dwelling on, but he’s not quite sure if he’d call it ‘nervous.’ He chews on his lip for a second before admitting, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t be, Buck. It’s just like all the others,” Steve says, stretching upwards to plant a kiss on Bucky’s lips. “Y’got me, right? Nothing really changes after this, I promise.”

Bucky smiles at him, thankful for the slight reassurance. He returns the kiss as sweetly as he can.

 

***

 

The show itself goes...fine. Nothing particularly memorable happens. There’s no confetti cannons, or blow-up toys, or angry fans screaming horrible things towards the stage. The venue is just a regular ol’ concert hall. It’s not outside, it’s not particularly vintage or anything remotely interesting. The crowd is a crowd. It’s not anything spectacular. It’s...well to be quite honest, it’s all a little disappointing. The Vegas show felt like a last show, or at least how Bucky thought a last show would feel. That was a culmination of everything they’d been playing towards. The LA show? Not so much.

Regardless, they get through it. They play all the songs, and the two encores, and then they all peace out back to the hotel. Everyone seems almost in a rush to get away from the venue, like they want to just be done with the place.

“Well that coulda gone a little better,” Steve says, once they’re back in their room. He immediately heads for his suitcase, yanking out clean pajamas.

“Mm?” Bucky groans from on top one of the beds. He’s not sure why, but he’s completely and utterly exhausted now. It’s not like the show went on any longer than the others, but maybe it’s a build up of being tired over the course of the whole tour. And now that the tour is officially done, Bucky’s body has given up the ghost. Sleep is going to come easy tonight.

Steve pokes Bucky in the meat of his ass as he walks by. Bucky squirms away from his hand. “The show, Buck. The show coulda gone better.”

Bucky lifts his head to squint at him. “You felt it too, then? It was just kinda bleh.”

“Yeah, but it happens sometimes. Tonight, I think it was just a bad crowd,” Steve says, with a shrug. He runs a hand through his sweaty, messy hair, and sighs. Shaking himself, Steve smiles at Bucky, a beautiful thing that lights up his entire being. “Don’t worry. Next show we play will be better.”

“But the tour’s over?” Bucky reminds him, feeling slightly anxious again. Is he going to feel mildly nauseous until they get home?

Steve makes a face at him, sticking his tongue out and screwing up his eyes. “I know that, you _dork_. I meant next home show. Those are always fun.” He pauses for a moment, and then looks at Bucky, considering. “Would you do security for us for those, too?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you guys want me to?” Bucky says, rolling onto his back so he can look at Steve a little easier.

“‘Course we do, Buck,” Steve says, with another wide grin. He reaches out, and squeezes Bucky’s ankle. Bucky wiggles his toes at him. Steve nods towards the bathroom before saying, “I’m gonna shower, and then we’ll sleep?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, returning the smile. “I’ll be here.”

 

***

 **STAR PLAN** _@STARPLANband_ **✔**

thanks for an amazing tour, guys.

we can’t wait to see you all again soon. 

***

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow guys. this is it! the last chapter! it's been...a ride, to say the least. i'm so, so glad that you all are here with me at the very end of STAR PLAN. i will say this: there will likely be a sequel or epilogue at some point, so be sure to stay subscribed to this story, or to me as an author. i'm definitely not done with this band, not yet. 
> 
> if you have any questions regarding the fic, please hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee). 
> 
> if you'd like to make fanart / playlists for the fic, please please do so! i just ask that you link me on twitter or in the comments on here so i can see it! 
> 
> i love you all, and thank you for sticking with me this long.
> 
> 💙

 

 

***

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

and so the long drive home begins 😴

***

 

The ride home takes five full days. They stop around Nebraska for one night at hotel, and then keep right on towards Albany. Everyone is exhausted, the type of tired that comes after a job well done. Natasha has taken to sleeping wherever she drops, curled up on the couches into a tiny little ball, or sitting up at the table in the kitchenette. Clint even picks her up and tucks her into bunk at one point.

Bucky’s anxiety creeps up, and up slowly the closer they get to their home state. He’s not sure why, exactly. It’s not like Steve lives that far from him -- he’s just across town. They can see each other whenever they want. It’s not like much will change, not really. But no matter how often he tells himself that, his anxiety keeps climbing until he’s restless, walking back and forth between the couches, his bunk, and the table.

“Barnes, sit _still_ , would you?” Natasha finally demands, throwing her magazine into her lap. It lands with a rustle of slick pages. “You’re making me feel like we’re about to be attacked.”

Bucky stops halfway down the bus, with wide eyes. He moves closer and plops himself onto one of the couches. Steve is on the other end of it, which may or may not be the reason why he chose this particular seat. “Sorry,” he mumbles, averting his gaze towards the floor. They’re about three hours away from Albany, but it feels longer. Everything seems to be taking longer than it normally does, but that’s probably his anxiety.

“What’s wrong?’ Steve asks, looking over at Bucky. He and Peter have been rewatching _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ for the past week. They’re most of the way through the second season, which is Bucky’s favorite. He’s not been watching with them religiously, really only paying half-attention when he happens to be in the back with them. The Ba Sing Se episode is on now.

“Um… nothing, really,” Bucky says, making a face at himself. It is the truth. Nothing is wrong. His body just _thinks_ something is.

Steve gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe him, and turns in his seat to face Bucky head on. He leans closer, and reaches out to take Bucky’s hand in his. “I don’t like calling you a liar, but… you’re a liar,” Steve says quietly, raising one eyebrow. He knocks against Bucky, and adds, “C’mon. I’m your boyfriend. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

Bucky looks at him, really looks, and sees the absolute honesty on Steve’s face. He smiles softly, and nods. “Alright, alright…” He shifts again, so he can look at Steve straight on. Bucky waits a beat, and then takes another huge breath in. “I’m nervous about going home,” Bucky says, making a face at himself. Who’s nervous to go home? Most people _love_ going home. Not him. Not when it means he’ll be by himself in a shitty apartment.

Steve blinks at him, and tilts his head sideways like a puppy who doesn’t understand a noise. He starts and stops a few sentences before finally saying, “Do you know _why_ , exactly?”

Bucky nods, but doesn’t offer an explanation.

“Okay, why, then?” Steve asks, patient. He’s speaking gently, like he’s afraid Bucky might startle and run away.

Chewing on his lip, Bucky thinks about how to phrase it. He doesn’t want to be a clingy boyfriend, doesn’t want Steve to think that he’s obsessed with him or anything like that. It’s more that STAR PLAN has become like a family to him in the past three months. Sure, Steve is a huge, enormous part of that, but it’s all of them. It’s Peggy, it’s Thor, it’s Clint, it’s Peter and Angie. It’s even Nat, though she is still mostly a mystery to him. It’s finally having people around that genuinely like him. It’s feeling wanted.

Bucky sighs, and shrugs. This is Steve he’s talking to. Steve, who he loves and adores with every little bit of him. He can talk to Steve. Bucky takes another breath, and lets it all out in a rush as he says, “There’s a lot of reasons, but… but I think the big one is that I don’t want to be lonely again.”

Steve stares at him, and continues staring at him for what feels like an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he says, “But why would you be lonely? We live in the same city.”

Bucky nods, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He knows Steve won’t be far. He _knows_ that. He knows the rest of the band must live pretty close too, or they wouldn’t be in a band together at all. He knows that he’ll probably see them all plenty. It’s just hard for him to admit the feelings he has and the reasoning behind them. Bucky continues, “I… I live in a tiny, crappy apartment. It’s on the other side of town from you. It’s… it won’t be hard for me to just give up? To stop showing up to things, to stop trying.”

Steve’s face falls just slightly, but he nods like he understands. “I get it, Buck. I get it. But if you think I’m just gonna give up on you, you got another think comin’.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand in his. “I’m not going to let you give up on us, alright?”

Bucky’s heart thumps once deep inside his chest. Steve cares about him. He isn’t alone in this anymore. Bucky smiles, a soft tiny thing. Nodding slowly, he brushes his hair out of his eyes. It’s getting outrageously long --  maybe he’ll get it cut when they get home. Would Steve like him with short hair? The thought flits through his mind like a hummingbird before he says, “Okay” with a quiet voice.

Steve squeezes his hand again, and then brings it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it. He leaves it there for a moment, kissing it once more before saying, “Buck?”

“Mm?”

“If you’re having a bad day, you need to tell me, okay?” Steve says, in what’s mostly a whisper. His blue eyes look watery, like he’s on the verge of tears. Bucky wants to hold him tight, even though _he’s_ the one who’s having a rough day mentally. Steve continues, still quiet, “I can’t help if I don’t know.”

“I have a hard time admitting when I need help, Steve,” Bucky answers, making a face at himself. “But I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask, Buck,” Steve says, with a smile. “Now, c’mere and let me lay on you?”

Bucky laughs, but shifts himself around on the couch. Once Steve’s slight weight is on top of him, he finally relaxes. His own personal weighted blanket.

 

***

 

When they finally rumble into the long-term parking lot a few days later, Bucky’s stomach is in knots. He wants to puke, he wants to curl up in a tiny ball in a safe, dark place, and never come out. Instead, he helps the band clean the bus of all their belongings. His own are already carefully packed back up into his suitcase and backpack. All his chargers for all his electronics are shoved at the bottom -- he’s always had a habit of leaving those behind. They’re now the first thing he packs away, just in case.

Bucky picks up Steve’s eye-searingly colorful blanket, and folds it with shaking hands. He turns to bring it to Steve, but he’s right there. Bucky blinks at him, very suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Buck,” Steve says, soft. They’re the only ones in the back of the bus -- everyone else has already climbed off to go get their luggage from below. Steve reaches out and grabs at Bucky’s arm, hauling him close. “It’s okay, alright? I don’t… I don’t want to go home either, but I’m not far. I promise I’m not. You can come over whenever you want, you don’t even gotta call first, just show up.”

“It...it won’t be the same, though,” Bucky says, voice distorted from his extreme effort to not cry. He’s always been an easy cryer, and he _hates_ it when he cries in front of people. His face gets all blotchy and red, his eyes turn bright blue, and it’s never, ever a good look. It’s a stupid thing to be embarrassed about, Bucky’s fully aware, but that doesn’t change anything.

Steve’s face twists, and Bucky’s knows that Steve can tell he’s close to tears. It makes his stomach hurt even worse than it already does. But instead of acknowledging it, Steve nods and says, “It won’t. It definitely won’t be the same, but Buck, it might be better?”

Bucky gives him an incredulous look through his hair. His last hair tie had kicked the bucket about three hours ago -- his hair was hanging loose around his face in a way he didn’t like. He chews on his lip, and thinks, how could being apart from Steve be better than being with him all the time? How could that possibly be better, in any way at all?

Steve rolls his eyes, laughs, and continues, “You don’t know yet! We’ve never done this before, so don’t knock it ‘til we try it, okay?” He moves closer, so the toes of their shoes touch. Reaching up, Steve brushes his fingers over Bucky’s cheek, and then leans up to kiss him. “Don’t worry, Buck. Please, don’t worry, okay?”

Turning his face into Steve’s hand, Bucky presses a kiss to his palm. He takes a deep breath, and says, “Okay. I’ll try not to, but I can’t make any promises.”

“How about this, how about we talk on the phone later? Or we can… we can Facetime, or hell, you can come over to mine if you want?” Steve offers, blue eyes wide.

Bucky nods in agreement. Any of those work for him, anything that lets him still feel like Steve’s around him. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do that. Any...any of that.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s middle, and squeezes him tight. “We’ll be okay, Buck. I promise.” He holds him for a little longer, and then pulls away. “I don’t want to leave, but I told Erskine that I’d pick up Strider at 3. I gotta get over there. Call me later, okay? I promise I’ll pick up.” He smiles at Bucky for a moment, and then surges up to kiss him one more time.

Bucky kisses him back, and watches as Steve gathers his things and bounces off the bus.

 

***

 **stevie rogers 🏳️🌈** **🖤** _@sgrogers89_ **✔**

i have so much laundry to do, holy shit.

***

 

Bucky’s phone rings while he’s in the middle of putting his clothes away. He’s doing it as slow as he can, each movement like an actual physical pain in his limbs. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be surrounded by these thin, smoke-stained walls. He doesn’t want this cheap, shoddily put-together furniture. Bucky wants the bus. He wants to sleep in that tiny little bunk across the hall from Steve. He wants to watch movies on the couches with his friends around him. He wants that life back.

He’s been home for two hours, tops, and he’s absolutely fucking miserable.

Reaching for his phone, Bucky sees that the image on the screen is one of Steve making a goofy face into the camera. He doesn’t remember changing it to that, but maybe Steve stole his phone one night and did it for him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Bucky grabs his phone, and slides his finger across the screen to answer it.

“Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Buck,” Steve says, voice hoarse.

“You alright?” Bucky asks, a little worried. He’d been fine earlier, but that didn’t mean something awful hadn’t happened between then and now. Maybe something had happened with Strider? Maybe Steve’s house had been broken into. Maybe he was having an asthma flare up. A million things run through Bucky’s mind, but he isn’t sure if any of them are right.

“I...uh,” Steve takes in a huge ragged breath. His voice sounds funny as he adds, “I hate this.”

Bucky’s stomach plummets to somewhere around his ankles. What does he hate? Bucky? Their relationship? He keeps quiet, though, so Steve continues talking.

“I hate living alone. I fucking hate it,” Steve says, clearing his throat with an awful wet-sounding cough. It suddenly occurs to Bucky that Steve has been crying -- that’s why he’s hoarse and coughing and sounds like his nose is all stuffed up.

“I hate it, too,” Bucky says, barely audible.

Another ragged breath comes through the speaker. There’s a beat, and then Steve snuffles as he says, “Move in with me.”

Bucky’s heart squeezes. “What?” he asks, just in case. He doesn’t think he could handle it if he heard wrong.

“Move in with me, please, Buck?” Steve asks, pleading over the phone. “Please? I have a spare bedroom, if you don’t wanna sleep in mine with me. I’ve got the room. It’s not a big house, but it’d be fine for the two of us…” He pauses, and laughs. “I… I’ve tried to tell you like a million things since I got home but you’re not here, and I _hate_ it.”

“You mean it?” Bucky says, a little louder this time. “You mean it, you want me to move in? Stevie, I can’t...you can’t joke about this, okay?”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not. Just please, please say you will?”

“You want me to move in with you, into your house?” Bucky says, for clarification. He’s already thinking about how quick he could possibly pack up all his belongings. He thinks he can manage it in about two hours, if he hurries and doesn’t care what gets broken. There's a tiny part of him that wonders if this is moving too fast, if they should take it slow regardless of them being miserable. A bigger, louder part of him tells the smaller, complain-y part to shut up. Steve wants him to _move in._

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says, a hiccup of laughter turning the word into two syllables.

“Okay,” Bucky answers, nodding even though Steve can’t see him. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters. His boyfriend wants him to move in. They’re both miserable. It’s not just him. There’s nothing wrong with how he’s feeling. Bucky feels it in waves -- relief, happiness, certainty. “Okay. I want… I want to move in with you.”

Steve laughs happily on the other side of the phone. “Okay, okay. _Good_. Okay. Oh, God, oh thank God. When, when can you move in?” He pauses, and sniffles. “Do you need help? I can get Clint and Thor and we can…”

“No, no, the furniture stays, other than my bookcase. Do you have room for a bookcase?”

“Even if I didn’t, I’d make room for you,” Steve says, a smile in his voice. “Is now too soon? Can you come now?”

Bucky laughs, a full body giggle that shakes him as it moves through his chest. He lets it peter out, and answers, “No, now is great.”

“You remember where I live?” Steve asks, now full-out laughing. It makes it a little harder to understand him, but not by much.

“I think so. Text me your address just in case?”

“Okay,” Steve says. There’s a pause, where the airwaves between them just seem to radiate happiness. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Give me two hours,” Bucky says, smiling like a crazy person. He’s moving in with his boyfriend. He’s moving in with _Steve_ . He blinks, and realizes that he has to call his landlord, has to turn off his electric and gas, _and_ has to pack all his shit. “I’m gonna go, so I can get started.”

“See you soon, Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky can picture exactly how he looks. Red face, blotchy from crying, but happier than anything. He can’t wait to see him in person again. He can’t wait for this. He can’t wait for the rest of their lives.

 

***

 **barnes.** _@jbbarnes310_

@sgrogers89 ❤️

***

 

 


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